


Yours

by KoreofHades



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Biting, Blood and Injury, Brother/Brother Incest, Crying, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Humiliation, Hurt, Introspection, Jealousy, Love Triangles, M/M, Missing Scene, Misunderstandings, Multi, Painful Sex, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slice of Life, Smut, Songfic, movieverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 15:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16558517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreofHades/pseuds/KoreofHades
Summary: The story is set before Thor's first movie, about a week before his official coronation. Obviously, being the son of Odin, the whole city has been partying for days and it's going to be so until the big event. Everyone is full of joy and hopes for the bright future that awaits all of them, except Loki, who is now brooding more than ever over the feelings he secretly harbours for Thor. Tortured by all these emotions, Loki decides to leave Asgard and reach the next forest of Járnviðr (the “Iron-wood”), his sancta sanctorum, to clear his mind before the evening's dinner.What will Loki do when  instead of Thor, the one that comes looking for him is Fandral with promises of love and understanding?





	1. Prologue: A glorious night for love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkpixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkpixel/gifts).



> This story is part of the Thorki Big Bang 2018: thank you Mods for this beautiful opportunity!
> 
> I dedicate this story to ilovemybluesky, ’cause loves angst.  
> And also to my fantastic beta Darkpixel: without her this story probably wouldn't exist.
> 
> This is my first story about Thor and Loki, and also my first time writing in English, so... I just hope you will have a good time reading it. ^-^

_Please wrap your drunken arms around me_

_And I'll let you call me "yours" tonight_

We are not aware of our own loneliness until someone, with his presence and absence, doesn’t shatter it. This impassable wall created by ourselves, which protects and destroys us at the same time, falls like a house of cards before the gentle breeze of Sjǫfn*. It is enough an absence, an unbridgeable emptiness, coming even from the sweetest of dreams, to burst our solid defences. One crack causes another, and another, in a vicious cycle that turns our pure sentiment into passion. In a short while Sjǫfn gives way to Freyja*, in this dance where we are not masters. We are like puppets commanded by the heart, that treacherous organ that bewilders the mind, leading it docilely towards oblivion through pleasure and pain, so inextricably tied together. Even the most cunning among gods, the Master of Deception, was caught as its prey by such madness. Just as the strongest deity of Asgard was forced to surrender before the power of his own feelings, which he had long tried to conceal.

This eternal struggle against ourselves appears to the spectators as dreadfully beautiful and horrible, marvellously longed for and rejected. Love is nothing but a grotesque theatrical play, in which fiction and reality blend mysteriously, turning the audience into actors. Main characters not by choice, but by fate, in this war where there can only be one winner. Because, in an attempt to slow down the flowing of a river, we cannot do anything but be overwhelmed by it. We can deceive ourselves, believing to be stronger, but in the end the wave of our feelings will end up reaching us in all its power, annihilating us in our noblest part. Once the reason has been destroyed, all that remains is our most real and horrific side, the one we would never like to show. Yet, no matter how much we try to escape it, there is something even worse, far more fearful than absence. Something that completely destroys our barricades, our last strongholds protecting our nearly forfeited soul.

Because in the end... there is _presence_.

The painful appearance that our heart has always craved. The closeness is no longer only imaginary, no more a pretended play of our mind, but becomes touchable body, real warmth, so unexpected it makes tears of joy flow from our eyes. It's here now, it's incredibly true, our hands can finally feel the body we longed for so long, we can even deceive ourselves that our hearts can lightly touch each others And in that moment, our feeling becomes clear and we surrender to it, as if we had never started a war against it. As if, from the beginning, we had yearned for our own defeat.

Perhaps this is the scariest between the two shapes of Love: the realization of our desires, the sentiment exchanged in the intimacy of a kiss, of a heavenly and frighteningly right union. For as long as nothing, or rather nobody, affects our sad reclusion, _He_ can not hurt us any further. We are the only executioners of ourselves. It is us, us and nobody else, stabbing ourselves and making our hands bleed with our own sin. Because some of us, in the deep of their souls believe, hope, that they can’t aim for so much joy. That they don’t deserve such happiness. For this reason they remain in silence, for this they lie, they fake, they trick and eventually hurt those who, more than any other, they wanted to protect. For as long as you don’t accept to be hurt, you can never truly love. As long as we believe ourselves to be unworthy of this feeling, we will never be touched by it. Yet they too, these renegades, when their beloved appears before them, they let them in. Without even knocking, almost without leaving time to prepare for their entry. It is in that time that such presence becomes the punishment in their desolate condition. And in that exact moment they understand that they no longer have power over their own mind, that they are nothing more than ordinary renegades, rebels of that logic that had tried, in vain, to protect them.

_Because the brain follows the heart.**_

_Because the sleep of reason produces monsters.***_

Everything stops being silent, and even in the peacefulness of our shelters, the stillness is dreadfully broken. By a voice. Or by a moan of pleasure, which breaks in a prism that multiplies its light, turning it into countless sighs, unstoppable, unmistakable invocations to the goddess of physical love. Exactly as the ones of another god, not exempt from the will of such an otherworldly power. The god of mischief trembled, even prayed, but without knowing to whom he was addressing his pleas. At that moment, in that infinite moment of pleasure, there was only _his sun_ , the sole master of his soul. Nothing else mattered anymore. Not even fear, nor the instinct that warned him to react, before it was too late. But how could he fight something that his own soul had longed for centuries? How could he reject the only person in the world who, he was sure of it, could hurt him countless times and always be forgiven by him?

He had suffered for so long in his loneliness... what could ever be worse?

He must have looked very ridiculous in that moment, the god of mischief: in the situation that most of all required the utmost shrewdness and collaboration of his witty tongue, he couldn’t do anything but moan, barely holding back from declaring, with a cry, his defeat. He stopped denying, lying. He was no longer able to utter such a blasphemy against his battered heart. It was impossible to restrain those moans, those slight cries of pleasure that his own trembling body demanded and expected to free, up above, even higher, beyond the walls and the sky itself. One after another, in a sacred and infinite hymn, known by all beings capable of understanding the language of the fair Freyja.

Instead of begging _his master_ to stop, thus giving voice to the logic and fear that, tempting, whispered in his ear, he couldn’t help but beg him to continue. Supplicating him with gestures and caresses, kisses and broken words. Torn between the weight of the consequences of their reckless gesture and the firm decision to cross that border that had never let himself touch with even a finger. He had but observed it with languor, oh, how he had longed for it... since immemorial time. He was getting more and more used to those touches and kisses of _his_ god, his and of nobody else’s in that wonderful and frightening fragment of his life. Even if those he received were violent, even painful, he was so happy, because this was the way he had always imagined them. Voracious, scratchy, fierce, able to turn into bites and even bruises. Still, at the bottom of the drunkenness and spasmodic jealousy that was driving Thor's body along the path of his skin, Loki also felt a promise of caresses, a desire to protect and infinite melancholy. Like a distant melody, learned in youth and lost with adulthood, but stubbornly trying to come alive again. It permeated the smell of a promise in the air, the taste of a bond that would have never been theirs, if not for one night, that damned and fateful night.

Loki couldn’t have hoped for a more indulgent damnation of his soul.

«I love you.»

_'Cause slightly broken's just what I need_

_And if you give me what I want_

_Then I'll give you what you like_

_Please tell me I’m your one and only_

_Or lie and say at least tonight_

**_(Avril Lavigne – Give you what you like)_ **


	2. First chapter: The joyful celebration and the lonely god

_I'm searching for something_

_that I can't reach..._

Imagine the most bright and majestic realm that your mind can conceive. Made of shining towers, whose battlements caress the sky; of large halls illuminated by the sun and, cunningly, coloured by the million colours arising from wonderful windows; surrounded by statues so imposing to appear as Giants trapped in the rock by some kind of spell. If you tried to force your mind to show you a similar architectural marvel then, perhaps, you would have a blurred vision, like a slight mirage, of what is Asgard, the abode of deities that reign and live beyond the heavens, to the other side of the Bifrǫst, the rainbow bridge. It has been debated for centuries among men about its real appearance and in many ways it has been described, each time with new similarities and contradictions. But actually the configuration of this mythological place has never been touched at all, despite the efforts of academics and poets. Everything starts very simply, like a fairy tale: an enormous golden castle overlooking everything, for miles and miles away, with tall towers that reflect the colours of the rainbow. At his bottom, between fountains with a singular shape, delicate ripples of the ground pour their waters that flow, sinuously, along the whole town, to meet then into new springs or wells. The citadel is a pure impressionistic manifestation: soft colours of the earth blend with harmony among the pastel tunics of the citizens, between the banners and the paintings of the houses, in a harmonious confluence of a civilization who shared so much with mankind but that, at the same time, has sparingly preserved some inimitable and precious details. Like the trees that shade the squares, which, thanks to the divine nectar, assume a golden and iridescent tonality. And what could be said about the individual houses, the style of the clothes of citizens both common and noble and, finally, the royal abode of the sovereigns among all the gods? Pages and pages of hundreds of volumes would never be enough to contain all the wonder of those places and people. However, in this glorious celebration, in which the events that we are going to narrate take place, Asgard appeared very different from what had been described so far: being a special event, the city itself had changed its appearance and, like a young woman getting ready to show herself to his beloved during the most important day of her life, in the same way every house, every corner and even the golden palace, had become even more beautiful, even more luxuriant with wonders. There were multi-coloured decorations on every side, from the windows, along the streets and even between the branches of the trees. Among them dominated the royal four-coloured emblem: gold, dear to Odin, father of all gods; blue, designated to the wise consort from the Vanir family; green, reserved for the cunning and ambiguous second-born Loki; and, of course, red. The latter was now the most important one and revered with pride by all citizens. It represented the eldest son, the radiant god of thunder, who would soon rise to power by taking the place of the wise parent. A great banquet had been held in his honour, extending for two weeks. In these festive days the city was like resurrected from its numbness, which the peaceful daily life made usually flow through the streets of the golden kingdom. Such an event, of course, had awakened the attention of everyone, even those who came from distant kingdoms who weren’t always friends. There was no day, in fact, when some messenger or even ruler of other realms appeared to offer their approval and joy for this occasion, thus renewing their loyalty to the powerful kingdom of Asgard or, more simply, sanctioning an extension of the truce reached between the two empires. A boundless euphoria ran through every drift, like an electric shock made of hope and joy for the future.

How could it be otherwise?

We are talking about Thor, the impetuous and powerful warlord who had repeatedly led to glory the Kingdom of Infinity, during lone missions as well as with his father. Thus Asgard had been renamed, now that its powers and dominions extended beyond imagination to all the nine realms. Even Midgar, in fact, was subject to their jurisdiction, although Odin had always preferred to let mortals rule their own. Only in case of attacks from the other kingdoms of the Universe supported by Yggdrasill, the father of the gods would have intervened, as had happened centuries ago during the war with the Ice Giants. But now there were no realms so foolish or arrogant to challenge its power, or the ruthless force of his son and the valiant warriors he led into battle. This was something to be proud of and of course such a magnificent progenitor could only summon all the imaginable honours and frivolities for his beloved heir.

In this everlasting festive air, only one soul seemed troubled. However, it didn’t certainly belong to Thor's. Carelessness had always been one of the characteristics of the young god that often was mistakenly confused with foolishness. No, the firstborn of the heavenly family was not stupid, nor ignorant: he had received a very fine and rigid education, which, however, hadn’t affected his sunny and gentle nature. He was ready to serve his kingdom with arms when it was necessary, but at the same time the beautiful god was more than willing to enjoy the laughter and the joy of living surrounded by his people. His soul craved for battles, the proud girdling between fellow soldiers during the most adverse undertakings but was also satisfied with the noisy tranquillity that characterized his days at Asgard, among the inns, the good people and his inseparable friends. All seasoned by the serenity of those who do not take care of the duties that now more than ever would have invested.

_«There is a time to think and one to drink!»_ he liked to say on such occasions, close in a table among his faithful companions of adventures and some young ladies and, sometimes, even boys enchanted by him. And how could someone blame them? Thor had always been handsome, but his beauty varied according to circumstances. Solemn on official occasions, proud during battles. Yet, during moments like those, where he was fully free to give vent to his true personality as a light-hearted and cheerful boy, he shone. He was simply as radiant as the summer sun who brought Midgar, one of the nine realms he loved most, back to life. Not without reason humans had renamed him god of fertility, among the various titles that had been assigned to him over the centuries. This, of course, was because he brought the warmth of the sun along his path ... and his passion under the sheets of the most beautiful creatures of all universe.

No, the one who carried this torment in his soul as a heavy shadow tied to his feet, was someone made of a different fabric compared to Thor and, at the same time, closer to him than anyone else. It could only be Loki, the younger brother of the powerful lightning god. The dark god, lord of mischief and deception, walked along the jubilant palace with tormented thoughts. A polite smile adorned his beautiful face, ready to be given to anyone he would meet along his path. Despite the titles conferred to him by the people of Midgar and for the most part, as he knew very well, from his same countrymen, Loki had both bearings and an appearance worthy of his real births: smooth and soft hair like raven's feathers, the messenger consecrated to Odin and captivating emeralds eyes, capable of capturing anyone in their coils: not by chance, the snake, the asp in particular, was his dearest animal. And if his drier physique reduced him, but didn’t make him any less charming and, indeed, gave him more grace than the average of the Asgardian warriors, his silver tongue rewarded him with rich prizes, slaughtering the hearts of many young people of both genders. This particular epithet, referring to his outstanding skill in the art of eloquence, was perhaps the only one he liked among all, as fully reflecting his ambiguous nature. In fact, he was tired of always having to pretend to be exemplary and perfect, since even then he still wasn’t welcomed by anyone. He hated that hypocritical mask of courtesy and goodness that he had been forced to wear every day, for centuries, to please his parents. Yes, he was the second born of the great Odin, but... that was it. There was no glory for him, there was no respect, no love. Only fear and, he perceived it perfectly, refusal.

Asgard wasn’t his home. It would never have been, because the other Aesir would have never accepted him. Because he was not like them, he had never been from the day of his birth. His constitution wasn’t robust, he didn’t have golden hair, so common among his people and in particular in his own family. He was not skilled in hand-to-hand combat, which he despised deeply; and, much worse, he was a master of magical arts and deception. Qualities that, despite the comforting words of his mother, were perceived by the most like ill fated. Despite riches, splendour, study and devotion his existence was engulfed in, he didn’t find peace nor acceptance. from either others or himself. In a glorious day like that, it seemed that these negative feelings could burst from his chest at any moment, crushing him, until he was reduced to dust.

_You have nothing to do with this joy._

_It's Thor the one we love._

_No one wants you._

_Go away._

And that was exactly what he intended to do, while those voices turned into needles stuck into his heart. On other occasions it would have been different. He would have vented his resentment through jokes and pranks, with the help of sadistic and childish spells. Those same illusions that people blamed him so much for. He would have enjoyed the frowning and yet controlled expressions of the servants, while he played them some tricks thanks to his witchcraft arts: a cup of wine which, suddenly, was overflowing with asps; grasshoppers peeping out of the tapestries as soon as they were mended, straight in the face of the beautiful maids; some small poisonous scorpions that walked happily on the laid tables, terrorizing the noble guests... real fun, in short, capable of drowning his bitterness for some time.

But not these day, not during that solemn occasion. He could not. Odin would certainly have incinerated him with his gaze and locked him up in the dungeons of the palace for a few centuries, leaving him to think about his inappropriate behaviour. However, this wasn’t what really scared him. The underground cells, in the end, had the advantage of being perfectly isolated, precluded to anyone. His ideal place. No, what he feared was the perfectly controlled and calculating anger of his mother, Frigga. She would certainly have opted for a much less conspicuous sentence, but way more cruel, tailored for her beloved _little child_. Like looking after the children of the nobles during the tedious evening banquet. For hours, slow and inexorable. Entire droves of moaning and mischievous infants. And no, he saw no similarity with himself, though the amused gaze of the woman tried to suggest the opposite.

_«Perhaps, if you stay with your counterparts, you will learn some manners.»_

Loki shuddered at that memory, shaking his head to clear it from his mind.

“No.” he said with conviction “Once it was more than enough, thank you, mother.”

He accelerated his pace, eagerly longing for one of the few joys that his kingdom gave him: riding freely, getting lost in the forest in the east, near the village, Járnviðr. He didn’t have a clear direction in mind, he just wanted to go far, far away, and get lost among the green canopy of the Iron Forest, so called because of its dark and resistant wood. He wanted to escape from everything and everyone, especially from himself. At that point, he couldn’t help but think that, just as the people didn’t consider him one of them, in the same way he felt like a stranger in his own country. This feeling, with the passing of time, had taken over him, growing, slowly, by his side. The most comical part of this poor tragedy was that the one who made him feel so rejected, was also one of the very few people whom the god of mischief loved with all his heart. Thor.

Compared to his brother, Loki was shamefully dry, both in the physical sense, and in the desire to fight enemies. The magical arts seemed to be the only thing he could excel in, since diplomacy and the study of languages of other realms, even though they had been painstakingly studied by the second born, constantly ended up in the background, before his brother's deeds. He was grateful to Frigga for what she had taught him from an early age and was proud to share with her, and only her, such a bond, as unique as powerful. For once, he had something that was only his and nobody else's, something that even Thor could never take away from him. Nevertheless, his talent had only increased the voices of his singularity and increased the scepticism about his right, like his brother, to ascend the throne. To his great fortune, eventually their wishes had finally come true: Thor would reign and triumph, for the umpteenth time, on the shadow with which he was forced to share the blood of the great Odin. And their parents, of course, were also enthusiastic about this result. Loki couldn’t blame them. He was perfectly aware that he had never had the slightest chance against Thor. It was simply too much, in everything, for someone like him.

A bitter smile concealed the sudden pain that had stabbed his heart, now reduced to shreds that desperately tried to stay together. It was the same pain he felt every time he lingered on such thoughts, and yet he felt the same fevered resignation: no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much his heart screamed at him to hate that name, to blame him, to insult him and curse him, he  couldn’t succeed. He simply couldn’t hate Thor. Despite everything, despite his pride, the recklessness and frivolity with which, at times, he made himself invested during battles, despite the malice with now he made fun of him along with his companions, the same brother who had proudly said to always wanting to defend him from every pain, Loki could not help but experience a boundless sense of envy and admiration. Thor has always been the person who Loki dreamed to be, the one that everyone, his father first, urged him to imitate. Because for Thor all was granted and forgiven, because in his heart reigned kindness and love for his people. Because, simply, it was Thor. The sun of Asgard. What no one knew, however, was how much Loki had forced himself to be, even in part, even for a few moment, a ray of that blinding star that was his brother. For him, Thor represented the sun: beautiful, out of reach and at the same time something that belonged to everyone.

«No matter how much the moon is shining and weeping, her light will never match the shattering force of the sun.» he murmured thoughtfully, thinking back to the words that, from unremarkable nights since, he had repeated in his mind, in a vain attempt to resign himself to the inevitability of the facts «She can never be anything but a pale imitation of him. An asteroid without its own light, a sphere that shows only half of its face to the world, keeping its darkest part hidden. The opaque reflection of a dazzling light.»

He clenched his fists and without realizing it stopped in the middle of a corridor of the palace, miraculously isolated from the deafening crowd that flowed like a river a few steps away from him, beyond the walls. However, as soon as his brother's image flashed into his mind, he immediately melted into a sweet thought. He remembered precisely his warm smile, that kind look that always accompanied him wherever he went. He remembered the beauty of his face, the intensity of his scent, which reminded him of summer. And when he thought of the way he caressed his neck, resting his hand gently but firmly, reassuringly, caressing his cheek with his thumb, Loki's heart lost a beat. He blushed, even, taken aback by that unexpected but dazzling memory. In Thor's presence he faked his embarrassment with words of mockery, revealing an indifference that was not his own, because inside himself he always wondered how the hell did that oaf, _his own_ oaf without hope, couldn’t hear under his hand the irrepressible beating of his heart. It was an unworthy feeling, for Loki. He thought it was dirty, unhealthy even, but he couldn’t control it. He didn’t even know when he began to look at Thor with such eyes, with a love so deep and devoted to overcome their brotherhood. He only knew that, from now on, he was completely subjugated by it.

“It's your brother, Loki.” he repeated for the umpteenth time to himself, sighing and not convinced at all “For Odin’s sake, control yourself!”

For a deity like him, _like them_ , blood ties were anything but a restriction. Actually, on a closer look, it could be considered as an additional motivation for their people. Who better than the person with whom we had grown up since the most tender childhood, and had shared whole days and nights, of whom we could claim to know everything, for whom we would have willingly given our life, without any hesitation, could be a better partner for their immortal life? Well, not really immortal, but 5,000 years were certainly an existence of all respect and the closest to immortality that was known to them in the whole knowing universe.

Loki had read, during his studies, that mortals regarded incest as something aberrant, a taboo that was not even pronounced in the deepest meanderings of their mind. And, in part, he could understand why. He found it difficult to accept such sentiment, though very many of them on Asgard practiced this custom, even if only for the joy of a moment. Others, however, wanting to look at the numbers, forge lasting bonds, turning from brother and sister to husband and wife. Thor, however, had always shown aberration for this practice. In this he was similar to Frigga, who nevertheless respected the decision of other people. Odin, on the other hand, was absolutely favourable and, indeed, in the past had even proposed to the firstborn to marry Loki, so that both could reign over Asgard as equals. Because, of course, not even the fact that they were men was a limitation: rather than denigrate this practice, as happened in some places on Midgar, the Kingdom of Infinity considered it as one of the many faces of reality. A way like another that nature allowed them to be happy.

“With my spells, I could have become anyone he wished for... even a woman, if that’s what he wanted... Even now, I could satisfy him in any way, it would be enough...” but Loki braked this horde of unsettled and now useless thoughts.

Thor had been categorical on that occasion. He could never love Loki differently than the way he had always seen him: like a brother. Nothing more and nothing less. And, Loki had sadly accepted that statement, without showing the slightest disappointment. After all, he would never have dared to further darken his brother's perfection. It was enough for him to know that he had a place reserved only for him in his heart, however small and miserable it was. He would not have numbed him with the presence of his person, so unworthy, so hated, so different. The sun was beautiful just because it was unattainable. For the moon, then, which alternated with it in an infinite dance, it was nothing but a brief glimpse, a marvellous vision, which would remain eternally such.

«Long live to Thor, our new king!»

For the umpteenth time the horns had risen high, as a sign of good wishes and joy for the imminent new sovereign. Now it seemed an obligation, a ritual tacitly accepted by all the celebrant participants: to honour the powerful Thor every time someone wanted to drink. For some it might have seemed like an overly tedious gesture, but not for the god of lightning. Indeed, the convivial atmosphere in which he had been immersed for days had made him extremely proud and happy, to the extent that he filled his young ego to the point of overflowing. He had always admired his father and dreamed, from early childhood, to come to power to be able to serve and be acclaimed by his people. He could not ask for greater joy and honour: only death in a right battle and his subsequent ascent to Valhalla could perhaps match that solemn moment. And it was simply the festivities! Who knows what he would have felt once he ascended the throne, during the official ceremony. So he kept repeating himself, while he smiled at everyone and, before the shadow of the doubt could again take possession of him, he decided to answer kindly to his friend who, decisively, was using _slightly_ too much of that trick to make everyone drink and, above all, to savour again and again the delicious nectar that, inexhaustible, always seemed to overflow from their horns.

«Volstagg, my greedy friend, easy! I do not know how much you should drink at my expense, after all I'm not yet...»

«Oh, come on Thor, don’t be a killjoy!» the mighty warrior promptly interrupted him, taking advantage of that pause to wipe his long beard with his arm «You said it yourself: you're officially king now!»

«I don’t remember saying that...» the blond defended himself with little conviction.

With all the noise, the cries, the smiles and, of course, the good mead sipped in those weeks, he believed he had said a lot of things... only half remembered, nor did he know in the presence of who he had said them. He scratched his head instinctively, slightly worried by the chance that he had said too much to some nobleman who was little to his liking and, the more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that he had probably done it. Many times. Ops.

«Don’t you?» Lady Sif intervened, making an emphatic tactical pause before drinking the rest of her mead and, at the same time, confirming the dilemma that still belonged to the Prince of Asgard «Then it's better to alert the guards: we have between us a double of and the great and powerful Thor, who sins of a modesty unknown to him. A really amateur mistake.»

«Loki, dear cheater, is that you, by chance?» Fandral mocked him, grabbing his friend by the neck as he did whenever he wanted to make fun of him «In which case, know that I'm very disappointed by you: you should know that I prefer brunettes like you... ouch!»

In less than a beat, Thor had freed himself from his friend's playful grip, and then grabbed him much more firmly in his arms with a fake threatening gaze.

«Fandral, my impertinent friend, I thought you knew the rule at the base of friendship.» he joked, rubbing his fist in his hair, a gesture that in other circumstances would throw him into the blackest pit of panic and despair.

On the other hand, his perfect hairstyle was the basis of his perfect presence which, in turn, was linked to his perfect posture and, therefore, to his perfect priming technique. And what was the meaning of life, especially if it was so long, without the love and charm of courtship?

Yes, it was precisely that discourse that, tirelessly, he offered to his friend whenever an enemy or, even worse, a friend made his appearance indecent, even if it were just by a comma. But he could forgive them, his accomplices, in the end perfection was not something for ordinary mortals, and not certainly for brute deities without grace like them. Given the spirit of the moment, however, he ignored the offense received and decided to give back instead words of equal mockery.

«Share everything, nice little shape-shifter brothers included? Ohi-ohi!» he complained immediately, regretting, but not too much, his bravado.

«I thought that was the basis of any relationship.» muttered the fourth friend of the group, who was always a bit on the side lines, close enough as to be able to enjoy such scenes, but as far away as was needed to not get involved in them. Not exaggeratedly so, at least.

«Hogun, not you too, please.» Thor teased him, showing him what was supposed to be a menacing look but that, of course, lost any malice if there was such a complicit smile to adorn it.

In confirmation of this, the cavernous and contagious laughter of the good giant of the group surpassed every cry and shouting.

«Ah-ha! I know, I know it well! Rule number one! Never... !»

«Never go to bed with the boss's sister. Or brother, even if in that case the term is quite irrelevant.» Sif interrupted him, with a satisfied grin.

«Hey, Sif, it's not fair! I was about to say... !»

«But, just to say, is that still valid if it’s the aforementioned little brother to throw himself in my arms? That being the case, would I receive, let’s see, just a simple warning…or?» Fandral continued undaunted, quite intrigued by the subject.

Thor giggled, apparently sly. However, while he laid his eyes on his friend, the latter could swear he had grasped a bit of severity and a measured hint of a serious threat, veiled in the carefree irony of the moment.

«Let's say that instead of breaking your neck, I would just break your legs. And, of course, what's in between them, my friend.»

«Uuuhhh, magnanimous!» echoed Volstagg, gulping down the umpteenth horn «Even if Fandral would see it as the worst punishment: rather his neck bone, but certainly not his beloved sword, if you know what I mean! Ahahahahah! But don’t worry, Thor: if there is one thing sure in this damned life, it’s that before anyone can break through the heart of the sorcerer of Asgard, it will first come the Ragnarok!»

The laughter filled the table, rising to the sky, as if the walls of that room were not enough to contain such a joy for life. Yes, it was really nice to be alive in those moments, with those people, with the hope that lodged in everyone's hearts. It was a wonderful day to celebrate, as there had never been. Of course, it was  rather a thought not here nor there, especially if it came from the one being celebrated, but Thor could not help repeating it with conviction within himself. The climate was perfect, both above them and around their bodies: people in celebration, known and unknown, wandered with serenity and offered him a drink or gave compliments, without the slightest subjection. He was used to stroll among the people, the son of  Odin, but usually there was always a thin veil, a reverential aura, which somehow numbed his heart. Being the firstborn of the father of the gods was undoubtedly a privilege, even an honour, but it was also a burden. A heavy burden that was handed down from father to son and that one day would be placed upon his own heir. This was one of the reasons he felt a strange anguish and reluctance for his task. He didn’t want to load anyone with his grief, let alone his future son. Being king meant renouncing so many things, so many parts of himself and, in some cases, hurting the people closest to him and loved by him. A sovereign had to think only of the good of the people, never his own. This meant eliminating everything that might have given Asgard harm or danger, and although he had now become so good at disguising any semblance of doubt with the euphoria of battle, a small part of himself kept whispering that it was not right, that it could not be right to shed blood for a greater good. That there were things that could not be sacrificed for others... especially if they were lives, people who, like him, had something to protect and love. The closer the god came to the day of coronation, though seemingly carefree and happy, the more he felt troubled, moved by a flurry of uncertainties and worries. Would he ever really live up to his father? Will he be able to defend everyone? And, more than anything else, will he be a rightful king?

He liked to move war, oh, he liked it so much. Growing alongside his father, feeling on his skin countless conflicts, hearing from childhood stories of epic battles in which the good, embodied by his family, triumphed over the evil, often represented by the Ice Giants, which child wouldn’t be enchanted? And exalted by it, when he reached adulthood? Thor wanted to be powerful, invincible, capable of any feat: so he felt every time he held Mjöllnir and threw her furiously at his enemies. It was the mighty Thor finally! He had earned that title. The truth, though, was that reigning meant more than just that. It did not mean just shedding blood, but defending peace. For everyone, not just for Asgard. He knew it well, damn it... yet, he could not think of another way in which he could prove his worth. Everyone idolized him as a god of war, but apart from that, what was he? Without Mjöllnir, he was not even able to control his power over lightning. He had tried, countless times, and on all these occasions he had done nothing but create disasters and trouble. Only his mother's and Loki's magic had saved him from certain death or, worse still, from hurting someone. He felt so weak and incapable. He wanted to become stronger, even more, beyond his limits, for the people he loved. This was the ghost that dwelled in him and that, silently, he carried in his body everywhere, persecuting him in every moment of his life, when he least expected it, when he should have been - and had wanted to be – happy.

It was at that time that a different thought, much warmer and more reassuring, enveloped him.

It had been enough to focus on the sound of his name to placate the vortex of his anxieties, to focus on a single individual, who was able to make it more capricious and childish than he wanted to admit to appear.

“Loki... where the hell is he now? He promised to celebrate with me.”

He looked around instinctively. The laughter continued, as if nothing of what he had just thought could even touch it. All those people around him would have made anyone feel loved, but at that moment he needed eyes that understood him, eyes that with a simple look could dig into his soul and make him feel good, make him feel really understood and in the right place... he shook his head, bringing more mead to his dry lips for too much meditation. It wasn’t like him to think so assiduously of a single person, yet lately he seemed able to direct his thoughts only to his brother. When he tried to turn them away, they snapped back to him, more arrogant than ever, a quality that was well appreciated in Mjöllnir, but a little less if it concerned obsessed thinking of _that_ person.

Especially because if he had to leave with the weight of yet another worry, he would have preferred that it had been his own brother in the flesh, and not just his memory, to continuously come back to him.

He finished drinking the last sip of his mead. It wasn’t alright. It wasn’t alright at all. That way of thinking about his brother was most definitely too obsessive for him to ignore it any further so he tried to talk about it to his mother, years ago, carefully avoiding to specify who he was referring to, although the essential problem was precisely that. He did not even know why he did it. It was silly. Still, he felt that if he did tell her he would regret it, because he would make his thoughts real, he would somehow take them out of his tormented mind to make them tangible, possibly achievable. In response to his fears, Frigga reacted in a totally unexpected, but typical way: she laughed, delighted and serene, at her son, as when he was a child.

_«My ray of sunshine, you really don’t understand it? Is it so clear that you’re in love.»_

At this thought Thor was, if possible, left even more disturbed than before. For some miraculous divine concession, he had managed to separate himself from his mother without undergoing further questioning. That rhetorical question, addressed to his heart, had sufficiently exhausted him.

He... was in love? With Loki?

He didn’t want to believe it.

It was absolutely unforgivable.

He had always been very close to his younger brother, almost possessively... definitely, too possessively. He had always considered him as an irreplaceable person in need of his attentions. A younger brother was someone to protect, even more than to love. This was what he had always naively thought of. He didn’t remember it well, but there had been several episodes dating back to childhood that had confirmed his conviction. His mother once, joking with her children on a quiet, conflict-free spring afternoon, told him that when he and Loki were still children, Thor had almost ended up in fights with another child, son of I-have-no-idea-which-kingdom-was, that came visiting with the family for the usual political duties. Odin had thought that leaving the babies alone for some time would harm no one. The queen, however, endowed with the foresight for the natural calamities children can cause inherent to every mother, had put her foot down so that, at least, she remained close to the children. She blindly trusted her maidservants, but she knew all too well that the only order Thor would obey on the spot was her own. Loki, on the other hand, was still too young to talk articulately, let alone put himself into trouble, so he was her minor concern from that point of view. She never imagined, however, that the firstborn would give her such a fright and, at the same time, such joy. As soon as the young guest had been introduced into the palace garden by Thor himself, who had felt obliged to show off with his father how well he was behaved for his age, the guest had rushed to the object of his childish attentions. To the cry of _«How cute, is this your brother?!»,_ the unsuspecting boy had materialized before Loki, who played unaware among the flowers, and had instinctively picked him up to cuddle him. Frigga's surprise was only at the beginning. Though she thought this attitude was not well suited to royals, she understood that the young age of the child automatically apologized for any failure, especially if it was she who had to judge and jury. Thor, however, was not of the same opinion. More angry than ever, he had first snatched the brother from the intruder and then, clutching the infant to his chest as if he were an extremely delicate object, he had angrily proclaimed that _«Nobody, apart from me, has the right to play with Loki!»_. A truly moving scene, according to the woman, who still giggled tenderly for that demonstration of unconditional and pure love. It was embarrassing, as Thor would have willingly pointed out, now that Loki himself had come to know of it thanks to his mother's joking talk.

Not that he had the slightest recollection of it, but something out of focus, just knowing about it, though, was one thing, but sharing it, in front of Loki too, was quite another matter. Even if Loki had, at first, shown his best mocking sneer accompanied by a _«Brother, what do you say, I have your permission to go to the library or are you jealous of books?»_ he hadn’t been able to hide a slight glint in his eyes and a slight blush on his face that testified how much this memory that wasn’t even his own, had pleased him. Instinctively, he was certain that, from that moment on, Loki would treasure jealousy.

That, however, had been nothing but one of many such episodes that he otherwise recalled perfectly. Although he didn’t want to admit it, Thor was aware of how, through the passage of time he had become more and more fond of Loki, coming to consider him like his everything, the only world he knew and where he could find refuge. He was his confidant, the person with whom he had always shared dreams, pranks, even fears. He had the worst fights with him, even unjustly venting to his brother, because he knew that, apologizing more or less openly with him, he would had always find Loki waiting for him. And he too, over time, had the opportunity to forgive many faults of his brother, many unspoken words, because if Thor was the typical person who expelled all his frustration through words, repenting later, Loki was the exact opposite. He held the words in his heart and this hurt far more deeply both of them. But they loved each other too much for them to ever come to hate one another. Both knew this, and perhaps that was why Thor was totally relying on him. This until when, growing up, this bond had been soiled by a feeling much more low and unworthy. He had begun to observe his brother with jealously when he interacted with other boys, leading him to wonder, with growing irritation, with whom he would one day fall in love, to whom he would give his heart... and his body. The breaking point that made him realize that it was time to put an end to his sick way of seeing his brother, was when, after the usual evening bath, Loki had thrown himself on the bed next to him still wrapped in just a towel that, provocatively, covered only the bare minimum, while light drops run down his back hair into the sheets. Thor's eyes rested on him in a voracious way, leading him to desire to touch that skin, that hair, that body that had to belong only to him and to no one else.

_“Mine.”_ he had thought childishly _“I want him to be mine and mine only.”_

No, he shouldn’t have looked at him like that.

He didn’t want that feeling, so base, capable of staining the purity of their bond.

He had felt incredibly dirty for this and, the next morning, had urged his parents to give to each his own room. By now they were big enough, he said, while Loki watched him with a hurt expression, unable to reply. Frigga was, at first, opposed to this, not understanding the reason for such a sudden change: were they perhaps not happy together? She was worried, believing that they had had a more violent quarrel than usual, but before she could investigate more Odin had expressed himself in a different opinion. The age of maturity was at doors, and it was foolish to treat them still like babies. So that night, Thor slept in the room adjacent to his brother's. They were close, yet they felt so far away from each other in a way that they had never felt before. They both touched the wall that separated them that night, feeling infinitely alone in the silence of their room. Thor had resisted as much as he could, but in the end he had given in and got out of the prison he had built for himself. He wanted to talk to his brother and explain the reason for this decision, he wanted to see him, wanted to hug him and apologize, begging him to sleep with him every night, forever. He never wanted to feel so miserable and alone again. When he reached the threshold of their door, he had stopped, his hand still raised in mid air in the act of knocking. He had heard soft sobs coming from within. He had recognized the usually calm and reassuring breath that sang him to sleep at night, but which now seemed suffocating, altered, painful. He was the cause of that pain. Only him. It was his fault. Thor had not been able to move a single step. He had not entered, but he had not fled either. He stood there, standing for hours, listening to his brother's quiet weeping, until it had died out of exhaustion and resignation. The next morning neither of them had spoken a word about those facts and, indeed, Loki had shown him his usual calm face, rejoicing even, as he had finally rested well now that he had the bed all for himself and no “trolls” that suffocated him in inappropriate hugs during sleep. Loki was certain that what he did that night would have stayed a secret to jealously guard in the depths of his broken heart, and Thor had let him think so. He didn’t believe to be worthy of his forgiveness, so he didn’t even try to ask. He had always felt guilty about that  undeserved pain, and yet, instead of trying to put a remedy to it, he had tried to make it worse over time. In any way, even sneaky and cruel. Because if Loki understood that Thor wanted something else from him, something far more intimate than what they already possessed, then Loki would have certainly hated and repudiated him. He would certainly have refused such a bond... why should Loki ever have to devote his life to a person like Thor?

But perhaps, more than rejection, what Thor truly feared was betrayal. The discovery that what he had finally achieved would never be destined to last. He was terrified at the idea that his brother might leave, preferring another to him, so stupid, so overbearing, so unworthy to be with someone like Loki, thus forever ruining not only that new bond, but also their relationship as brothers. How could they go back to what they were, once they crossed that thin line? Rather than this, Thor preferred to be the one to draw limits to their bond, limits that would keep both safe. After all, Thor knew he was not made for Loki. He would never made him happy, he would never be smart enough, strong enough, fair enough for him. He feared a feeling as powerful as love and he feared even more the fact that if he managed to ruin everything, and certainly the fault would be only his own with his inability to reason coldly and to keep the wrong words to himself, then he would lose Loki forever. And this was something he could have never bear.

He knew he could live without being the most important person for Loki, but he didn’t want to, he absolutely did not want him to hate him. Not for even a moment. Loki would have forgiven his dishonest behaviour, his preferring more and more the company of the Three Warriors to his, his choosing training over study in the library, and the fun he made of his magical arts that he secretly admired, mocking he did only because he didn’t want his brother to follow him into perilous war. Loki would have forgiven everything to him, because he was Loki. He had always been like that and Thor, in return, would have forgiven every prank, every malevolent trick that his little brother would have throw at him. Because he was the most important person for him as he would always be, for eternity and beyond time itself.

«... Loki?»

Hearing that name, the god of thunder suddenly returned to reality, like a shipwreck survivor who grasped for air after sinking into the black abysses of the sea that he believed to be his friend.

«What?» he murmured absently, looking hopefully around.

«Loki.» Sif repeated, with a hint of disappointment and ill-concealed jealousy, seeing Thor's reaction «I asked where he went. I don’t like it when I don’t see him.» she took a deliberate emphatic pause, revealing the antipathy she had felt for the brother of the man she had loved since the first moment she met him.

He was a harbinger for trouble, and his origins were nothing more that further proof of the misfortune that, sooner or later, he would bring upon them all. 

First of all on the people who, for some absurd reason, loved him unconditionally: the venerable queen and the noble Thor. But, as Odin had ordered, she was not allowed to speak and, consequently, to reveal anything. Nothing, however, prevented her from externalizing her feelings.

«Oh, come on, Sif, are you still mad for that little lizard inside your clothes?»

The woman grunted, giving a murderous look that hurt Fandral deeply, who, melodramatically, put a hand to his heart, pretending to be nearing to death, which naturally made all the participants giggle even more than his little joke.

«Do not remind me.» the brunette hissed, while miming with her lips an unrepeatable insult «He knows perfectly well that it is the only animal I cannot stand.»

«Be true, and say that it scares you.»

This time it was Hogun who had to dodge the deathblow from the warrior, pretending to look at the ceiling above them with admirable interest.

«I have no idea.» Thor said at that point, still lost in the maze of his mind and, therefore, focused on the friend's first question «I was just...»

«wondering that myself » he concluded in unison with the woman, who was staring at him with an indecipherable gaze, at least for those who did not know how much she cared for the man who sat beside her.

She said no more, though her heart pressed to utter words that, like a poisonous sap, ran through her bowels, slowly rotting her soul.

“You always think of him when he's not with you, you idiot.” it was all that she was allowed to think, before filling again the drinking horn. She hated that part of herself, so poisonous, that made her feel like that person she hated so.

«Well, if you will allow me, I will go in search of the lost prince. After all, who better than the magnificent me?» Fandral then offered, already ready to go.

No matter how pure, immature carefree his friend tried to appear, he knew the disturbances that stirred the soul of the beautiful warrior and, wanting to rescue him, focused all the attention on himself with an exaggerated theatrical effect. Volstagg gave him a strong laugh of joy.

«Yes, that’s right! After all, you're the one against whom he throws less tricks.» giggled the giant, swallowing half a wild boar in one bite «A true miracle, indeed. Chomp, chomp!»

«This is because I am the most beautiful, the most noble, the most... »

«The most loved by horses.»

At those words everyone laughed so hard, remembering the trick that Loki had pulled thirty years ago, thus demonstrating his skills in manipulating illusions and, with them, the mind of his unfortunate victims. Fandral had in fact passionately flirted with a horse for several hours, before Thor had discovered it and had grabbed Loki by the scruff, threatening him with the Norns only knew what kind of sibilant words. «Right on the most interesting part...» protested the dark-haired man, with a faintly innocent and clearly amused look «It could had given birth to a fascinating union, like an eight-legged horse.»

Thor had replied that such absurdity did not make anyone laugh, but in truth he found it a decidedly ironic if yet unspeakable image. This, however, he refused to say aloud.

«Ah-ha, so funny... » The swordsman murmured, walking away «I hope for your brother to be close, because if I have to take the horse to chase him, I don’t know with what face I could face him! The horse, obviously.» he concluded, not to leave even the slightest shadow on the joy of that special day.

Once he had brought Loki back to his brother, he would finally be able to peacefully smile and then everything would be as it should be. He was sure of it.

_And I swear I hate you when you leave_

_But I like it anyway_

_My ghost, where'd go?_

_What happened to the soul_

_that you used to be?_

**_(Halsey - Ghost)_ **


	3. Second chapter: The sun and the shadow

_I focus on the pain_

_The only thing that's real_

The sun, barely caressed him, filtering through the green leaves of the forest. It almost seemed to be in another world, now that the palace was far behind him. Nevertheless, Loki’s heart remained stubbornly chained to that place, prisoner of his own thoughts. Even though Alsvidhr, his beautiful and slender steed, rode fast between the ancient roots and the tender grass, Loki couldn’t get in tune with the animal. A really unusual fact, since that horse had been carefully chosen by the prince of Asgard himself centuries ago. Between the many animals gathered in the royal stable at the time of his adolescence, this animal stood out thanks to his pitch black coat and his sinuous, almost delicate, but not less marvelous, appearance. Loki had been attracted to him immediately. He reminded him of himself, of his own way of being ruthlessly different, yet with a bearing no less proud than that of all his companions. That animal had given to him a shock from their first glance, a silent promise that had made his young heart - who was facing for the first time the trails of life- miss a beat: he seemed to whisper to Loki that he was able to indulge a deep and never expressed desire of his. Take him wherever he wanted, far away, and faster than his legs would have ever allowed him. As expected, Thor instead chose the most massif and pure white of his brothers: a splendid stallion that had nothing to envy to his father's steed, Sleipnir.

_«Come on, brother! Let’s choose together their names: I want them to be bound as we are!»_

Loki chuckled a bit, at that memory so distant and precious. They had spent the night without sleep, those two silly kids they once were, talking about the possible names they could had given to their horses. Finally, the princes of Asgard would have possessed one as well, one in the flesh, their very own! They were so happy at that time... everything looked so damn easy and safe, even the future. It was on that occasion that Alsvidhr and Arvarkr* were born, in honor of that dazzling and shining sun that had caught the two princes - still debating - on that propitious morning.

_«With these names, no one will be able to stop us in battle: we will be permanently bound together as brothers!»_ cried out at the end Thor, looking gratefully at that kind star that was slowing illuminating their world.

At that time, Thor seemed eager to be with him all the time. He had always shown it with gestures, but that was the first time the younger had heard him speak so openly about their relationship. Loki still remembered it clearly. He didn’t answer then, he merely nodded and tightened his grip on his brother's outstretched hand, though within himself he had felt a boundless and new happiness, which had surrounded him like a cheerful melody. He had finally become aware of Thor's feelings, and in that way he could think of their affection as something certain and unshakeable. It was the strongest emotion he had ever experienced. When they lay down, satisfied, Loki had reached for his chest, while still curled up and shaken by that unstoppable joy, and silently he had prayed to an unknown god, who lived within himself, so that nothing could come - from that moment on - between him and his beloved brother. Rather, he had naively thought that their time together would have been eternally marked by that perpetual and unerasable bond.

Unfortunately, it was from that moment on that their paths began to diverge. It was a slow and inexorable process, one episode after another, a word added to others, missed glances and broken promises, in the slow rhythmic cadence of their long lives. Although Loki hated to give his word, feeling in this way vulnerable to fate, he had been truly happy to swear to himself to remain with Thor, despite the differences and difficulties they would have faced on their journey. To protect him, to guide him, to admire his glory... and to love him in secret.

After all, what bad could come from that? What was wrong with wanting to be near the most important person in his life?

At least this... at least this little wish, he was allowed to embrace to his chest, right?

Clearly, he was wrong again - as fate proved to him mockingly.

Odin was the first to officially declare that his presence on the battlefield was no longer required. A kind way, we can say, to make him understand that even his father did not consider him worthy of the battle’s fury, despite his spells had been repeatedly useful - when not essential - to the outcome of their wars. He had suggested elaborate plans, exceptional and brilliant tactics, and also protected Thor on several occasions, protecting him from both enemies and his own recklessness. But despite all this, the troops did not respect him, and even the Three Warriors often regarded him with indifference, if not - as it often happened to Lady Sif - with suspicion.

This, however, didn’t matter to Loki. It wouldn’t -and would never- matter to him, he kept repeating to himself. As long as his brother asked of him, as long as his sun would have requested his presence by his side, he would have been the silent shadow to guide his hand, invisible to all. He would have been the servant to never taste glory, content to bask in that reserved for the one that deserved it most. The one others had decided he deserved. This, at least, until Thor pronounced the last, fatal word.

_«A sorcerer is of no use in battle and, moreover, requires constant protection. Your tricks might be powerful, brother, but that's not how an Asgardian warrior fights.»_

A bitter laugh escaped from Loki’s lips, but it resounded in the air more like a painful moan that wandered through the leaves and branches of the quiet forest.

“So, that was how things truly were.” he thought, repeating those cruel words within himself, for the millionth time.

He should have suspected it, after all. Sooner or later Thor would have got tired of him. Sooner or later he would have realized that he was not a part of them, that he had always been different and therefore avoided. Loki expected all of this, but just... since when had he become no longer worthy of protecting his own brother?

Since when had he become a burden, even for his sun?

How could had Thor defined _“tricks”_ the spells on which he had spent so many hours of his own life, in order to learn and master them at the very best?

How could have Thor left him behind like this?

Loki had done all this just for him... just to see him smiling with pride.

It was on the wave of that thought that Alsvidhr stopped abruptly.

Bringing his eyes back to reality, Thor's image was suddenly replaced by one of a handsome man, whom Loki knew very well. He was on his horseback too and - for a brief moment - his golden hair had made his tormented soul start with joy. His damned traitorous heart had even exulted, letting his mind sigh with emotion “He came here looking for me!”. However, that gold didn’t belong to his sun. How could it be otherwise? At that moment, Thor was certainly cheerful and carefree like never before, surrounded by the people he loved the most... he didn’t need him.

«Fandral.» he just said quietly, meaning with that simple word a surprised greeting, while he carefully disguised his disappointment.

Although he was known throughout the kingdom as _Silver tongue_ , he had understood that he could perfectly express himself with Fandral with few but meticulous words. He had in fact learned that the swordsman was hiding a deep soul, under the skin of an inveterate womanizer. However, this discovery didn’t help him to fully decipher that strange individual, as it was the case in that precise moment, since the god of lies couldn’t understand the reason for his coming: what was Fandral doing there? Shouldn’t he be on the street or in some inn, surrounded by the crowd and his companions, to celebrate his beloved friend and commander?

Fandral just pursed his lips, politely and with a bit of satisfaction. Once again - he noticed with pride - he had managed to read the sorcerer's enigmatic mind. It wasn’t that easy since, despite their long acquaintance, Loki had never really loosened up. He had never let anyone know his true self, to be honest, except for his elder brother. Yet unfortunately, even with him Loki had started to lose the complicity that once belonged to the two noble princes. And, perhaps because of their increasingly evident distance, Loki suffered tremendously. The thought that – probably - the faint bit of disappointment that he saw in his emerald eyes, usually so reserved, was due to this, didn’t surprise Fandral at all. Perhaps, Loki had hoped to catch a glimpse of Thor, in the middle of that lonely forest.

Such thoughts were proof that Fandral was indeed an excellent warrior, but also a sharp and careful observer: that was the reason why he was so desired by coquettish women, because they found an easy shelter between the loving words that the young man selected specifically for each one of them. In the same way, this ability helped him to classify and analyze the different silences, the penetrating looks and even the shrewd words that the god of deception let out in his company. To be short, he was good enough to pinch grab the interest and natural curiosity of Loki, even though he still managed to make himself an easy prey for his witty machinations. “The trick of the horse is a hilarious and sad evidence”, the blonde guy thought with no little self-deprecation, and then finally focused on the tacit question of the Asgardian sorcerer.

«The feast is magnificent.» he declared with emphasis, expressing himself through a theatrical gesture of his hand towards the green leaves of a linden, and then let the limb fall back to his heart, adding with a painful tone «However, we feel the lack of a special and dear presence.»

He concluded his little performance with a seductive smile and a friendly wink, as fleeting as unmistakable. A phenomenal performance, if he was allowed to flatter himself - and he let himself do so with great pleasure. With such inner satisfaction, Fandral dismount off his horse, while Loki watched him in dismay. Meanwhile, busy with the reins, he let go a small - and barely held - laugh: he loved to make the stoic prince of Asgard uncomfortable, even for a mere second. Nevertheless, the aforementioned royal soon recovered from the surprise that came from this too libertine and theatrical attitude. The sorcerer then showed his repertory glance: sarcastic, proud and slightly bored. Absolutely lethal, like the words that followed.

«Oh? Do you want to tell me that the geese that buzz around you and Thor do not squawk enough? If you expect me to make appear more of them for your delight, I am afraid to disappoint you, but the best I can do is to come out with some splendid snakes which, however, would sharpen the cries of those females. And my head is already full of them, but thank you for your kind thought, Fandral.»

The swordsman returned his gaze to the young man, still on his horse's back. The cheerful smile that he had genuinely donated to him did not faltered, though his eyes darkened by a sad passing by cloud. Despite the indifferent tone that Loki had used, Fandral sensed an abyss of truthful solitude at the bottom of it, a constant companion to the imperturbable sorcerer’s journey. 

«I was referring to you... we really felt your absence.» he said, without the shadow of any joke.

The dark-haired man raised a skeptical eyebrow, despite the fact that his words deeply impressed him. However, he pretended indifference, and before pulling the reins to turn Alsvidhr, he merely issued a sharp comment, trying his best to appear as a sincere reflection of his fictitious state of mind.

«I, as well, was talking seriously»

It was clear that he wanted to conclude that meeting as soon as possible. The swordsman, however, was of another opinion. Although on foot, he came up beside him without problems, as for now Alsvidhr was just pacing. He stared at the sorcerer as he grabbed the reins in an attempt to restrain him. However, Loki was focused only on the road before him, and ignored completely the presence of the other, as if he were an annoying midge and, for this reason, unworthy of his consideration.

«It's a day of celebration for all of us, Loki.» Fandral tried to say again, firmly, though calmly.

The prince wore a tight smile, which he granted to himself only for a few seconds. He knew very well how he should have behaved, how others would have expected him to pretended happiness. He was used to it from a young age and usually he faked it with a perfect mastery... but not that day. He was no longer capable of it, he felt his strength depleted. He was tired of pretending, so terribly exhausted by the weight he carried on his shoulders. He had reached the limit, he knew it very well, and that's why he went to Járnviðr, hoping to find the stillness necessary to face all those glances... and _his_ in particular. He couldn’t afford to be discovered, he could not and did not want to ruin the joy that belonged to his beloved brother. He went there - in his _sanctuary_ \- with such conviction, to find as always the right mask to wear. But, because of this long and obligatory festivity, he had been forced to keep the same disguise for too long. He was giving in, he was slowly letting the way to his real emotions show, through his mask of faked indifference. He could feel them clearly, and thus soon Fandral would have been able to do so as well.

He had to get rid of him, get him back to the palace as soon as possible. He would not allow him to see beyond that gap that was slowly cracking more and more over his heart. So he made all the table turn, counterattacking with a remarkably more opportune line for him.

«We have celebrated for _days_. I think I can assure with certainty that my heart is rather full of joy and glory, and...»

«Thor asked about you.»

Those simple words sorted the expected effect. Loki stood silent, momentarily disoriented. Fandral decided to take advantage of this to strike one more time. This time more resolved, deeper, but with no intent to offend, only to close on the opponent. He would have not allowed Loki to escape again. He had looked for days to find an opportunity to deal with that subject that concerned him more than he wanted to admit, and now that they were finally alone, he wouldn’t have allowed Loki to ignore him.

«He was looking for you. I believe, if I can say so, that you are the only person he really wants by his side, in this moment so solemn for him.»

The prince’s lips moved slightly, but could not produce any sound. Perhaps he was fidgeting in the attempt to find the most suitable words to reply, or perhaps he was trying to inhale as much air as possible for his lungs, apparently left without any. He did not find either of them, however, and in the doubt in which he was now stumbling, he could only succeeded in stopping Alsvidhr. He dismounted without adding a single syllable, too bewildered by those words that had triggered a new storm within him.

He didn’t understand, he couldn’t understand... he could no longer understand a thing.

Thor was looking for him?

Impossible. He had always been by his side during these days and, anyway, his brother certainly wouldn’t have noticed his absence, in the middle of all that chaos. There was better to do for Thor. There were better people than him, people who would have genuinely shared that carefree happiness, rather than being forced to lie like he was cowardly doing. There were more sincere smiles, more truthful words than any lie that the god of deception could have ever offered him. And yet Fandral... could Loki really believe him?

No, he was lying. He had to be lying. And, even if he was sincere, Thor wasn’t looking for him for the same reason that made his heart wince every day, every damn instant in which he thought of him. He was alone to bear the weight of his feelings and alone he had to stay. That was his place. Hidden in the shadow of an infinitely better person than Loki could ever dreamed to become... or possess.

«I highly doubt it. And I have no intention of going back anyway. Leave me alone, Fandral.» he almost hissed, talking more to himself than to his speaker.

He suddenly turned towards a small clearing not far from them. A tiny dazzling oasis surrounded by a wall of trees, from which emerged the sound of the forest. At his top it could be admired the immensity of that painfully clear sky, while at his feet there was a mirror that reflected its blue, without the slightest ripple on its surface. Loki stopped on the bank of that tiny pond, wriggling his hands in an anxious tic, which always affected him when he was particularly upset. Fandral didn’t follow him immediately, preferring to give him a lead of a few seconds. He didn’t want to hunt him like a prey, especially because Loki could boast of having many nicknames, but the title of _helpless girl_ certainly did not appear on that list. No, Fandral wanted to cornered him and, at least this time, let him reveal what worried him so much, but he undoubtedly did not want to force him. No more than necessary, at least.

He put a hand on his blond hair, ruffling them out of nervousness. He was far from sure about his method, unsure of every word he had used and should have used up to this point. _“Understanding someone is the hardest feat in the whole world, and claiming for oneself the right to help them is an act of pure boldness.”_ this was what he had always thought.

And yet he also believed that if there was one thing totally wrong in this world, was choosing to ignore, to turn away from it, pretending that this thing did not concern him. Lying to himself, using the excuse of incapability, when the truth was that the only thing he felt was fear. Simple, pure and slimy. Fear of getting hurt and of hurting the person he loved. It was much easier to pretend to be a dumb heartbreaker than to allow someone to get too close to him. A very knightly act of valor, as he had come to admit to himself. Yet now, in spite of the fear that was stirring in his chest, he hadn’t the slightest intention of going back a single step. He would have to take responsibility for his actions, accept any rejection, and even the hatred that might come out of his decisions, but he would not leave Loki alone. No longer, not now that he saw him so hopeless, like he was fighting an invisible monster inside of him.

Fandral would do his best, even if it meant making a mistake and ending up hurt.

While he conceded the sorcerer this small respite, the swordsman pretended to take care of the horses. Actually, both his mind and his gaze didn’t leave even for a second the figure that stood out alone in the glade. He could not avoid it. For the umpteenth time since he had realized the feelings he had for Loki, he couldn’t calm his heart, nor think straight like he had hoped to. What was born as a mere attraction had then turned into a powerful desire with almost obsessive tints. In the last couple of centuries, in fact, he could not think of anything but him, he could not even _desire_ others than Loki. Even one-night stands all resembled the beautiful god of mischief. Not in their whole aspect, of course, this would have been impossible as well as obviously suspicious. No, they were not women who would have made think of the prince certainly, not at first glance at least. But Fandral hoped to be able to deceive his mind with the slightest details: raven hair or eyes of the color of the blade full of dew during spring; skin like moonbeams or androgynous thin figures. But naturally, with the passage of time, he could no longer find a sufficiently witty lie to deceive his heart. None of these details could have been minimally comparable to the beauty of the original. Then, lacking of this illusion, he had tried with ever more pressing anxiety to penetrate through the barrier that the sorcerer of Asgard had created around his heart. However, the more the warrior took up this task, the more he realized that he could never find any place for himself beyond it. Only two figures dwelled into Loki's soul, in equal dimension, although with different intensities and reflections. One was his mother, the noble Frigga, while the other...

«Damn it!»

A sudden crash echoed with that scream of dull despair, scaring the horses that, if it hadn’t been for Fandral, would have fled in terror. After the first moment of loss, the swordsman went to the origin of that noise. With dismay, he saw that the cause of all this was Loki. Through one of his spells, he had in fact thrown a rock with overwhelming force towards a tree, piercing it and making it collapse with a heavy thud on the ground. Fandral barely observed that monstrous spectacle, which expressed part of the true potential of the Asgardian prince. Those were trees of the Iron Forest, certainly not easy to break down, not even for the most powerful of the warriors of their people. However, too concerned for his friend to concentrate further on that scene, he placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, trying to calm him down and make him feel his closeness to a pain that he felt he could understand too well.

«Don’t TOUCH me!» the wizard roared, slapping his friendly hand and walking away from him.

Loki's face was severely transfigured by the desperation that, hidden for too long, poured out from his eyes into a single, painful, tear. Fandral was astonished. He had never seen Loki so shaken. He, who had always been an example of coldness and cunning, now showed himself for what he really was: a lonely kid, lost in the vortex of his own emotions. His chest rose spasmodically because of the strong beating of his heart, while his hands were trembling more and more irrepressibly, now that he had seen himself reflected into the eyes of his companion. He feared his own fear. He was terrified by the idea of having been discovered, of being unable to return to be what he was before. Even his green eyes, always so proud and composed, perpetually concealed behind an opaque mist that only Thor and his mother were able to dissipate in an instant, now appeared uncovered and defenseless. He seemed like the most fragile creature in that silent and distant world. A person who grew up in a golden cage that now showed its cracks.

«Loki...» his friend called him hesitantly, but with a firm voice «Loki, what's going on? It's not like you to act like that...»

«Oh, really?» the other interrupted him abruptly, with a slight hint of hysteria.

“No, not like that... please, calm down... stop everything, please, erase everything.”

That was not what Loki wanted. He didn’t want to show himself that way, not in front of someone, not right in front of the only friend he had managed to have during all these miserable centuries of his existence. He knew that he would have been better alone, he had to be alone, in order to be able to pour out this pitiful condition, in order to be able to pretend again, showing that mask with which he could no longer even recognize himself. Only a few days. Only a few cursed days, until Thor would be officially crowned king. This was what he had promised to himself. And then he would forget, forever. He would erase from his mind that dirty and unworthy desire hidden into his heart, even at the cost of using all his darkest spells. But it had taken time to do to learn that powerful enchantment, months... and, now that he could use it, he didn’t have the strength to do so. He didn’t really want to forget Thor, he didn’t want to lose the warmth that caressed his heart every time he touched him with his gaze. At the same time, he was terribly tired. He didn’t care, he just wanted to forget, to escape once and for all from that cursed pain. That was why he had chosen the day of the coronation to begin the ritual: he wanted to keep in his heart a last memory, the brightest of his own sun, before forgetting it forever.

Instead, he ended up meeting Fandral.

Instead, he showed him the weakest and most miserable part of himself .

To end up being detested by him as well.

Why?

Why?

_Why?!_

«So tell me, WHAT am I exactly?» he finally cried out, deafened by a thousand convulsive thoughts.

«LOKI!»

He barely had the time to see Fandral's hand rise and then lower to his face. Shocked and totally caught off guard, Loki could only close his eyes and wait. Wait for a slap that, however, would never come. Instead of it, there was a caress, unexpected, delicate, reassuring. He slowly opened his eyes, and found the broken and at the same time protective gaze of his friend waiting for him. He seemed about to cry too. But instead of doing it, he smiled as his mother often did when she saw his son tormented by something.

«What are you talking about?» the warrior barely said with that smile, broken by the feeling in his heart that he couldn’t express into words «You are Loki. You're just Loki.»

And, for the first time in centuries, the disgraced prince of Asgard allowed himself to cry in front of someone. It was just a second solitary tear, which painfully plagued his face, dying between the gentle fingers of the swordsman. But how many cries, how much suffering was contained in it. Loki felt free from a poisoned spell. He realized with amazement that he was finally venting his pain in front of another living being. And, inside a small place of himself that he didn’t believe existed, Loki was grateful that that person was Fandral.

He used a vague excuse to get away. A really unconvincing pretext even to his own ears. When did the great and powerful Thor has ever needed to rest from the confusion created for his own celebration? He _was_ the very soul of the party and the centerpiece of every conversation, when Volstagg and Fandral didn’t steal the spotlight with their majestic and legendary stories. He himself desired the company of all, friends and subjects, so that he could nourish his ego with their shouts of acclamation and their sincere smiles. He had never felt guilty about that, on the contrary, he found that every warrior deserved the right eulogy for his merits during battle. Everyone did so, because this was their true essence, their very reason of being: to fight gloriously until the last and memorable battle, which would have ensured a deserved place along the endless table of Valhalla, home of the righteous and bravest warriors. Everyone was aiming for this. All, of course, except for Loki.

Right, Loki had never borne big crowds, even less the excessive attention of anyone. _“Profiteers who, as soon as they get the chance, throw mud on you... when you're lucky.”_ he often hissed, when returning from a battle, trying to get away and find shelter in his lodging. It was at that point that Thor acted - first with words and then with gestures - to stop him. He begged him playfully, praying for the Great and Mighty Loki to give himself to his people. And now that he thought about it, while his brother wriggled, annoyed by his embrace, he always gave up as soon as he uttered a phrase that had become a ritual.

_«Please Loki, stay. Do it for me... otherwise what’s the meaning of this, if you are not there?»_

And that was true, at least for him. Without his little brother sulky and bored, Thor felt incomplete. Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun and Sif were precious friends for him, but Loki was simply Loki. He couldn’t really enjoy his feats if the god of deception wasn’t at his side, snorting and looking up every time he was about to tell his deeds for the millionth time. Perhaps because, more than the dazzling laughter of his subjects, Thor wanted to glimpse the slight resigned smile that was painted on his brother’s face. That represented the greatest satisfaction for him. Too bad that lately Loki's presence on the field had become increasingly rare, as was for his participation in the celebrations that followed. And, for this, Thor could only blame himself. He had been the one to want it, to request it in front of their own father. Loki didn’t say a word, at that time, and just waited for the judgment of their parent who, of course, thought that the god of thunder was absolutely right. Who better than Thor could have known who most deserved to be by his side during battle? It hadn’t been a fact of value however, but of fear. Thor was maybe a fool, a reckless beast with a hot head, as his friend Sif called him reproachfully, but the god of thunder was not blind: he had noticed the constant and increasing number of wounds that his brother suffered because of him. Because of his excitement and recklessness, he had let Loki cover him and shield him countless times, enjoying his ignorant belief that his brother's spells were powerful enough to protect them both. And he had kept on thinking this until, years ago, he had learned that the god of mischief was using the Healing Room more often than not. When he heard his mother revealing this fact to Odin with concern, Thor faced his own ignorance for the first time. He had never thought that Loki could hurt himself so much for him... nor had he ever grasped the idea that there might be something that his brother kept hidden from him. The awareness of all the pain he had caused in those years to Loki had then crushed him and, feeling defeated for the first time in his life, Thor had decided to intervene. Loki would never again take part in an armed confrontation. He had failed to think of another possible solution: if he had allowed him to come, even as a strategist, he knew that the wizard would have done anything to stay by his side. Always, at any moment... like when they were kids, and Loki clung to the sleeve of his robes, begging him to come with him.

_«Me too, Thor! I want to help you too!»_

His tiny, stubborn, little brother, that Thor wanted to protect from all suffering... and that, instead, he kept hurting. He had seen his look, that time. He had caught his pain and dismay while awaiting the final verdict of Odin. He had immediately noticed the way he had tormented his hands, the breath just held back and the saliva swallowed hard, while inside he was harboring who knows what thoughts. Yet, Thor had done nothing to console him. He didn’t speak to him, nor had given him the slightest explanation. He simply left, preferring to escape his latest mistake. It was better this way, thought the god, it was better that Loki didn’t know, otherwise he would have felt even more hurt in his pride. He would have started asking questions, and how could have Thor explained to him that he was not like the other warriors, that he was special to him? How could he have told him this and not admitting that he felt something that went far beyond their fraternal bond?

No, he would have not risked so much.

Loki would have understood it, in the end. Loki would have certainly forgiven him. As always.

Thor never doubted it.

And yet, if that was indeed what he kept repeating to himself, then why did he now felt that weight upon his heart? Why, after so many years, did that memory come back to torment him? Why, damn it all, did he feel the compelling need to get up and get away from all the crowd that was cheering at him?

He didn’t deserve it, he felt he was not worthy of that affection. Not when he knew he had hurt the most precious of his treasures. Not now that he felt the premonition that things had changed forever between them. All this, just because Loki was not with him that day. Sif was right: he really was a reckless beast.

_“For Odin’s sake, Loki, where did you go? Why are you not by my side?”_ he thought annoyed, trying to silence all those voices in his heart.

He had decided to get away from his brother in order to not hurt him any further, to not involve him in those sentiments that he considered petty and unbridled like a pestilence. He had nothing against those who married their brother or sister, but... nevertheless, he could not conceive of it. It didn’t seem possible for him, because...

«Finally I am allowed to see the noble Thor, the invincible and powerful god of thunder... and, soon, Allfather.»

The soothing voice of a woman brought him back to the present. Without realizing it, Thor had come to a small alleyway in the town. Certainly not a bad place, as in Asgard such places didn’t exist, but certainly it was isolated and not friendly, in comparison to the cheerful vocals and the bright colors that came from the other nearby streets. Hidden in a long dark robe, which almost hid her in the shadow of the alley, the woman took a step forward, showing her face from under the hood, with a delicate and fluid gesture.

The prince of Asgard sighed in relief, recognizing her immediately.

«Lady Miranda.» he greeted her with a slightly awkward bow, not quite sure how to behave.

He had mixed feelings for that strange woman.

Wicked, hypocrite and manipulator... these were the first adjectives that flowed from the lips of the nobles, when they saw her go through the palace. _« I have flaws as well»_ he asserted with a gentle smile the first time they met, noting the prince's curious look. Miranda was not ashamed of her reputation in any way; on the contrary, she considered herself superior to others precisely due to her modus operandi. _«The world is a dark forest, my dear Thor»_ she had confided to him one day, ignoring his questions about the latest court rumors. In fact, it was rumored that Lady Miranda held a spy prisoner, who she personally tortured every night to get information about a hostile family. A great scandal had been grazed, but the woman, still a young girl at the time, when confronted by Thor about this had gazed straight into his eyes, charged with resentment. _«If you're not the hunter, then you'll be hunted. Who kills first survives, these are the rules of this mad world. Don’t get me wrong, however. I am perfectly aware of the risk I am taking»_ she had looked at her hands then, and the Asgardian could have sworn that he glimpsed the shadow of a tear obscuring her otherwise inscrutable face _«Once your hands are stained with blood, no matter much you wash and wash them, they will never come clean again»_. The prince had not known how to answer. Accustomed as he was to bathing in the blood of his enemies, he felt unable to express his disappointment to the noble. Yet, before then, he had never thought about this. He believed that killing during war was a more than natural act, while he had always condemned without reserve anyone who had committed murder. He laughed sadly at that point, resting a hand on that of the noble foreigner _«I don’t know why, but right now I feel like a real hypocrite... no, I know very well why I feel that way. I judged you without thinking, exactly as others have always done to you. Forgive me»_. Miranda had observed him in amazement, for the first time genuinely disoriented and unable to express herself as she would have liked. _«You mean... you forgive me?»_ she asked, with a note of hilarious disillusionment. _«No»_ the young god replied _«No, I cannot forgive you... this too would be hypocritical. But I can bear with you the weight of our hands, stained with red»._ From that moment on, their relationship had become incredibly clearer and more sincere, although apparently nothing had changed in their way of acting and confronting each other. Thor was no longer able to hate or blame her as others did. And at the same time, Miranda had stopped considering him a mere brainless idiot. Now in fact, as she had later confided to him, she considered him only a simpleton without brain. The woman had also learned from their following encounters that Thor wasn’t quite capable of feeling blind hatred towards anyone, even more so if this sentiment was imposed or suggested by others. Except for the Ice Giants, for whom he felt a natural aversion due to the stories he had grown up with, the Asgardian thought that he wanted at least to give people the opportunity to defend themselves, to show their reasons for acting and to be judged later in a fair way, before reaping a sentence without an appeal. What she did not suspect, however, was that this way of thinking was born thanks to what she had told him that day. Without realizing it, Miranda had given to the god a lesson that he would have remembered throughout his life. And in the end, after centuries since their first meeting, Thor had finally come to the conclusion that her high rank and the continued expectations of her adoptive parents had reduced Miranda to be the person she was now. She wasn’t a simple noblewoman, but the princess of another realm, Álfheimr, the kingdom of the Elves of Light. A people whose history and culture were admired in all the Nine Realms. Unfortunately Miranda only had the name of admirable**. Although she grew up in luxury, her life had been anything but simple. She lost her parents when she was just a kid because of a hired assassin, and the relatives who looked after her had always treated her with contempt despite her constant commitment. The Asgardian knew all this because she confessed it to him. Desiring nothing else than a combined marriage that would have brought back to splendor their family, the adoptive parents of Miranda educated her to perfection, in order to be able to gain the graces of the future king of Asgard. What they could not know, however, was that the girl had ended up being more and more open with that young man so bold and gentle. In the end, Miranda had really fallen in love with Thor and had hoped to finally combine the wishes of her relatives with her own. That had been all she had asked for, a small slice of happiness in her miserable life and, for once, it had really seemed possible, even for someone like her. However, the prince had been clear: he felt a boundless affection for her and put his maximum trust in her, but nothing more. He did not love her. Nor could he have ever come to love her, because, as he confided in secret, his heart already belonged to another.

_«... and, unfortunately, I fear that I will love him for the rest of my days.»_ the god had concluded, as he broke her heart with a last strike.

For several years they hadn’t spoken to each other, although Thor had hoped from the bottom of his heart that her friend would have forgiven him for this betrayal. He had waited for her for days, during the festivities, and now she was there, in front of him. Unlike the name of her race, the Elves of Light*** possessed a dark complexion, tending to purple which culminated with cold, indigo-colored eyes. Their title, in fact, referred to their enormous knowledge in the field of white magic, certainly not to the color of their skin. Their hair was usually white, but in particular cases they could be dark and, in unique situations, red like flames. Miranda inherited this unfortunate characteristic, which immediately classified her in the eyes of all as a succubus of the devil. Over the time, she had learned to shield herself with the same weapon that was originally made to hurt her: she learned to beautifully maneuver even with dark spells and now no one dared to name her with contempt. Of course, that was awe, not respect, but Miranda knew she couldn’t aspire to anything else. It was enough for her. That day, under her pitch-colored cloak, she wore a white robe, which emphasized her particular skin tone even more. Along the pointy ears, she wore the pearl earrings that once belonged to his mother. She never parted from them, not even when she went to sleep. Thor still remembered it.

«I'm happy to see you again.» he said, smiling at her.

She tilted her head, just curling her lips and faking a dubious look.

«Really?» after a short moment she smiled with complicity, as she allowed herself to do only in his presence «I am too, barbarous caveman.»

«Hold your tongue, braggart witch.» he snapped, as he approached to embrace her.

She returned the gesture naturally, though she immediately parted. She wasn’t used to such expressions of affection, she considered them superfluous and foolish, but the way she avoided the prince's gaze showed how much, in reality, it made her happy.

«I see you still remember our nicknames.» she snorted faintly angry in order to conceal her embarrassment «Then you haven’t become senile as completely as I hoped. Too bad...»

«It hurts me to not be able to satisfy your expectations.» he replied, pinching her cheek like a child, and as she squirmed, he added seriously «How could I forget? You're my beloved Miranda, aren’t you?»

Her face darkened for a moment at those words. It was a breeze of fleeting emotion and the warrior had no way to realize it, but something had stirred in the heart of the Elf.

«So, noble Thor.» she suddenly said with a coquettish smile, typical of when she played her part in public «What are you planning on doing on your umpteenth special day?»

The blonde giggled, slightly embarrassed to have been carried away by sentimentality in such a place. Although they were in an apparently isolated alley, this didn’t mean that no one could have heard them. For two nobles of their rank, it was unthinkable to speak so casually, especially after the invited scandal that was born after their undone marriage. But the god of thunder couldn’t avoid it: he felt sincere affection toward Miranda and, although her absence had wounded him, he felt no grudge against her. How could he? After the long centuries spent together, he trusted her like a sister. Moreover, she wasn’t so different from his brother Loki: both shy, wary by nature, yet full of an inner ocean that he himself was struggling to understand, despite the strong feeling that bound them.

«Nothing in particular, Lady Miranda.» he answered in a more vehemently mocking tone, but no less playfully «I was just looking for some peace after all this revelry.»

«You? _You_ were resting from the _revelry_?» the lady repeated, amused, while she was arranging a deliberately rebellious lock behind the long and tapered right ear «Last time I checked, you have never escaped your daily revelries since the day you came into this world.»

«I understand that three weeks of celebration may seem excessive for Light Elves, but...»

«Oh no.» she interrupted him gently «I was not referring to these days in particular. I was talking about each. Single. Day. Since you have been born, you have never lacked for anything.»

«What do you mean?»

The air around them suddenly became icy. Not a palpable cold, but something more sinister. Thor still couldn’t know, but he was about to see the true face of Miranda Kalidaughter **.

«Well, you see.» she casually said, as she glanced around the streets not far from the darkness of the alley, to then concentrate on the crowd behind her, buried into colors and an apparently ethereal joy «After all, isn’t  all of this just another echo of your ego?»

She turned her gaze upon him, piercing him with her crystal eyes.

«Isn’t this the reflection of your whole existence, Thor Odinson? The favorite son of the father of all gods. The powerful god of thunder and, ironically, of fertility.»

«Ironically?» asked the Aesir, unable to follow her.

«But it's natural, is it not? Isn’t thunder an element that brings with him destruction and misfortune?» said the Elf, with the same submissive  but condescending tone, the one she often used with Thor when he didn’t understand the dynamics of the court, as if she were his teacher and he a slow pupil, a bit distracted, who needed a bit of help «And yet, you are also acclaimed as the one who brings life and joy... don’t you find it ironical?»

The god could only swallow, as he let himself be enchanted by that intricate speech that, by now, was pressing towards its climax.

«What I want to say, Thor Odinson, is... if this around us is the crowd, who lives languidly under the protection of your fertility, I wonder... to whom all your misfortune will go?»

Slowly, like a silent panther, the Elf had approached Thor, even reaching a hand on his chest at the level of his heart. She waited, letting her poison taste the flesh of his prey, and then pushed away the palm with a sudden and impertinent snap. She even allowed herself to make a little puff on the face of the man she had once loved, before covering her face to hide an impertinent laugh.

«Ju-st jo-king!» she trilled in a crystalline voice «Come on, noble Thor, do not look at me so bewildered, or it will make me want to torture you, haha!»

Thor rolled his eyes, trying to quickly regain his self-control. And, of course, Miranda didn’t allow him to do so. Thor could have been the most powerful and fearsome in battle, but on the edge of the thin blade that the art of deception is, no one could match her. Even less so could do the naive and trustworthy Thor. However, the heart of the Elf hesitated for a moment. For a very brief moment, she thought to stop, that this would have been enough. Naturally, that other part of herself that had been shaped by her guardians, soon and easily won. That monster craved revenge, who was she to stop it? She, who had done nothing but unleash it against everyone, even going so far as to lead his adversaries to madness or death.

But... Thor was different. For her, he was not an enemy.

_“He betrayed you.”_ whispered the beast, hidden in her soul _“Do you intend to allow him to tear your heart apart once again?”_

«You know.» she intervened then, apparently to rescue the prince «I saw you with lady Sif and the noble Hogun and Volstagg, but... your brother? Is not prince Loki with you? Even the noble Fandral is missing... both prey of the excessive glory of the party like you?»

Her stratagem worked perfectly. She had been studying Thor carefully over the centuries, and after his refusal she had analyzed every event with different eyes, in order to come to a simple as banal conclusion. She didn’t care about that idiot Fandral. Oh no. And not even the god, giving the way he had jumped hearing the name of his brother: it was Loki the key to use to shred the immortal divinity of thunder.

«Ah, no... Loki has never been a banquet type. Fandral, however, went looking for him: Odin forbade people might gossip.» he joked, believing that he had returned to a more congenial ground.

How could not even start to imagine how wrong he was.

«Gossip?» she repeated falsely disconcerted «About what, if I may ask?»

She did not suggest anything. She could have done it, but it would have sounded prejudiced. No, it was Thor who had to play dirty for her.

«It’s... you know, when people don’t see all the royal sons at such an event, it seems almost...»

«What? That he is not happy for you?»

Here it is.

Now yes, now she could suggest. Naively, in a natural way. Like a viper crawling in the grass, ready to bite with her lethal poison. The Asgardian winced, shaking his hands in denial.

«No, no, of course not. Loki is happy for me.»

«Obviously.» she confirmed «After all, why should he be sad? You simply took what was rightfully yours, right?» as Thor wavered, she continued her speech «I mean, everyone knew how your race to the throne was going to end. As you said, people gossip. And, definitely, this did also come to Loki’s attention.»

«Loki... Loki has always been the one paying most attention to such talk, it's true. But I never heard them. Not from the people who deserve our trust.» he said firmly.

«Oh, of course. Why would you have?»

The implication of those words was too clear even for him, but, again, he was preceded by the mastery of the Elf «You see, noble Thor, I have always wondered one thing. Would you be so gentle to enlighten me?» of course, she didn’t wait for a replay, she only needed a look «I'm just wondering... are you really all right? Are you really happy to live in the perfect bubble of ignorance and perfection that your father created for you? Even if you pretend not to notice, or not to hear, or to feel anything, is it really like that? And until when, I wonder? How long will you be able to pretend that you do not care about those voices that intentionally tear apart the people around you? You know, don’t you...» she put a hand on his cheek, staring straight at him, with an inquisitive and almost insane look «That acting like this, you are hurting very, very badly that person?» she let her words fill the air before bringing down the guillotine «Who knows until when prince Loki will be able to endure the weight of your light?»

A slap broke the muffled silence that was deafening Thor. A silence that, of course, had never really existed. The party kept going around them, while the songs and laughter surrounded them. Yet those long minutes spent with Miranda weighed him like a tacit curse.

The Elf smiled, bowing her head slightly displeased, as she massaged the hand that had been struck vehemently by the god. He said nothing; he couldn’t find the words to reply to what she had just said. It was horrible, he felt like a prisoner of a spell. Miranda cheered victorious: the first step of her revenge had gone perfectly right.

«Forgive me, of course I would never allow myself to make such statements in public, but I was curious to see your reaction. After all... these are just humble conjectures between old friends. You will forgive me for this little outrage, right, noble Thor?»

As she walked away, Miranda could not help but think once again about the words that Thor, laden with the naivety that had made her fall in love, had spontaneously told to her and to those that she had carefully chosen instead.

“That was too easy.” she thought to herself, slightly regretful of not being more indiscreetly direct, but equally satisfied with the result she had come to. After all, she said exactly what she wanted to say. Even at the moment of their farewell, she had managed to address some other accurate words that, she was sure, had stirred something in the soul of the warrior. Something hidden that would have finally be released, injuring his own master and the person most dear to him. She almost was sorry for Loki, another poor little pawn in her sadistic game. He ought to be grateful, to be honest: for once, he would get what he wanted most. Oh, of course he would get it, but maybe not in the way he hoped. On the other hand, how do they say? The person who wants it all, may lose it all. And, unfortunately, Miranda had understood too well what those two brothers bound by fate craved the most.

“Truly pathetic, Thor Odinson. You are so surrounded by love and glory, that you cannot even see what you're really afraid of: stay behind, or better... be left behind. When Loki will be able to walk without you, I sincerely wonder, what will you do? Wait, isn’t that the reason why you refused to have a love relationship with him? Oh yes, I knew this too and, for once in my life, no little birds told me. Remember? You were the one who told me this, when I told you about my parents. What a fool you were to open up with me and reveal me your darkest fears. A coward, that's what you are. You prefer to cut yourself that bound before it can even blooms, rather than risk to be left alone and betrayed... rather pathetic of you, don’t you think, noble Thor?”

Staring at her reflection on the glass of a workshop, the woman found herself petrified. Dull, she approached that smooth and cold surface and, with a trembling yet curious hand, caressed the reflection of her cheek. She smiled for a fleeting moment, confused, as she realized that a tear had crossed her perfect face. And another followed it, and another, a myriad of small drops of resentment and hatred that flowed from her heart. She felt shame and extreme disdain for herself, and only more poison rose from her lips.

«You should have not addressed to me such words. How could you... how could you still call me _“my beloved”,_ after all the pain you have caused me?!» she murmured feeling hurt, while holding his hand in a painful grip.

Yet, within herself, she felt a plea that never, ever would she have dared to say aloud. A prayer that asked for nothing but forgiveness.

“Forgive me Thor, but I want you to feel the same pain you caused me... to be honest, if I could speak, I would very much like you to not forgive me at all.” she looked at herself again, this time with a sneer she knew too well and that, she thought, would have always belonged to her “After all, I'm nothing but the devil's succubus... an empty shell made of lies.” one last tear escaped her and, before covering her face with a hood and heading for the palace to take the last step of her merciless vengeance, she abandoned forever the last remnant of the innocent girl she had been a long time ago, and had, maybe, never really existed “But... I truly loved you.”

_Try to kill it all away_

_But I remember everything_

_What have I become, my sweetest friend?_

_I will let you down_

_I will make you hurt_

**_(Johnny Cash – Hurt)_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The horses of Loki and Thor have the same name of the two horses that pull the sun wagon in Norse mythology, respectively: Alsvidhr (“supreme in strength” or “very wise”) and Arvarkr (“first awake”).
> 
> **Miranda literally means admirable, worthy of admiration. Kalidaughter, instead, derives from her mother's name, Kalì, as the terrible and aggressive Hindu deity.
> 
> **The appearance of the Elves of Light is purely invented by me. Based on the appearance of the Dark Elves in Thor - The Dark World, I attempted to describe this breed in a different and, I hope, original way.


	4. Third chapter: Revelation

_I'm sorry if it's all too much_

_I never thought I'd find this feeling_

That gesture of affection lasted for a very brief moment, though both of them perceived it as a grain of sand that stopped - for an infinite instant - their existences. Loki was the one who broke that contact and, with it, the glimmer of light that the Asgardian warrior had finally managed to create between them.

«Thank you, Fandral.» said the sorcerer, holding his hand with hesitation.

There was something in his green eyes, something different from the halo that usually enveloped him, but which, at the same time, did not seem able to reveal itself as before. That emotion wavered inside him. It resembled a feeling that he did not allow himself to express aloud, but that was granted to lull and calm him, before Loki let go of his hand. He closed his eyes, to then look at Fandral with renewed self-control. Only a small shadow tenaciously kept on dimming that otherwise bright green.

«I’ve been quite rude.» he finally concluded, trying to erase what had just happened.

Fandral looked at him with the same expression as before. Although Loki seemed to be back in control of himself, the swordsman was not so foolish to believe that his weak gesture could have healed the wound that was causing him so much pain. He sighed, emotionally exhausted by those recent events. Seeing the person he was in love with in that condition, and being aware of not being able to do anything to help him, crushed him. He felt within him the unmistakable weight of his uselessness. He had no place in Loki’s heart and his feelings, although honest, couldn’t reach him. Fandral, however, didn’t show any of this emotions. He didn’t want to complain like a little girl with broken heart, or show himself as pathetic as he felt. For Loki, he would have endured any pain. Especially now that his beloved needed a safe shoulder to lean on. Even if Loki would have never admitted it.

«You should take better care of yourself.» he just said, trying to smile at him but failing miserably.

Loki's lips puckered faintly, in an automatic tic that always affected him when he nodded, but inside himself he thought the opposite. Not convinced by that faint assent, the blond kept talking, this time with a note of greater severity in his voice.

«You’re always more concerned about others rather than yourself. It's admirable, but you cannot suppress your own feelings or you'll end up hurting the people you’re so eager to protect.»

The sorcerer's eyes widened at that, taken aback by those words so alike to those his mother often addressed to him. Frigga sensed immediately his state of mind with a simple glance and, although they couldn’t always speak, she was always able to communicate to his son all her understanding and her calm reproach. After the astonishment, however, there was a dull terror: was it possible that even Fandral could see through his illusions,  to see what he was really like? The thought that someone else could understand him so well frightened him enormously but, at the same time, Loki felt again that small part of himself warm him, while it tried to whisper to him to believe in that person, to take that damn risk. However, no matter how tempting, the mistrust that had been rooted in his soul had - as always - the best on him. Loki could not afford to suffer again for someone. He couldn’t endured it.

«Me? Protect someone? It's not in my nature.» he replied boldly, but Fandral didn’t play his game.

«I was there by your side during battle: you have always fought bravely for your people. Even if, perhaps, the only person you really wanted to protect was your brother.»

«Tsk.» he stifled his tongue contemptuously «What a sharp, yet inaccurate, examination.»

«During all this time I’ve been watching you.» Fandral let slip, then tried to conceal what he had just said in a more neutral way «... along with our companions, and it was impossible not to notice your attachment toward Thor. And the same goes with him. But now it almost seems like your devotion is turning into...»

«Into what?» Loki asked, urging the other to speak «Don’t hold back, Fandral. Have at least the courage to end what you have insinuated up till now.»

Their eyes clashed for an undefined time, surrounded by a heavy silence. Fandral took a deep breath, hoping to not regret later what he was about to say. From that moment on, he could no longer go back.

«... fear.»

«Fear?» Loki repeated, with a slight hint of panic in his voice, as if he had been discovered in the midst of an intrigue, but he tried to conceal it with cold anger and calculated offense «Don’t be ridiculous. This is just resignation. I know I'm nothing but a shadow.» a sad smile adorned his face as he spewed all the poison he had in his body, painting in this way his words with a completely different meaning «I've always been so, since I was born. I will never be enough for all of you. Not worthy of the throne nor of your trust. Because Thor...» he hesitated, moistening his lips with his tongue, which felt dry and unable to continue that farce «Because Thor... is like the sun. He is covered of pure light and, sometimes, he is even blinding. It's painful to look at him, even think about him, and yet... he’s always warm. Warm like the summer sun. That’s why, despite I had always been a shadow for him, I still want to support him. I... I want to see how far his light can reach, how far he can illuminate with his warmth. At least that, I wish I could do it.»

As he kept speaking his eyes, as well as his voice, slowly faded away, until they died out, disappearing under the veil of sounds of the forest around them. At that moment Fandral remembered all the words he had heard in the corridors of the palace, among the troops, even among his own friends. In particular, his mind recalled the friend and companion of a thousand adventures, Lady Sif, for whom he felt a boundless trust and who had always been very clear in revealing her feelings of aversion towards Loki.

_«He's obviously envious of Thor, he had always been. He cannot stand being second to anyone.»_ she said on one of their first expeditions, when they were far from home.

_«He is just a hypocrite and a liar. I do not understand how Thor can still trust him.»_ she insinuated instead on another occasion, after Loki's tricks had taken them away from danger.

_«He is not worthy to ascend the throne. He will never be my king.»_ she finally concluded during a long discussion about who, according to them, was deserving the most to become ruler of Asgard.

Nobody contested it. Nobody felt safe enough, nor felt to be truly friend of Odin's second adoptive son, to be able to declare otherwise. Nobody, in the end, would have preferred Loki over Thor. The swordsman realized only then that he hadn’t been different from them. He had never expressed his assent on those occasions, but he had never even openly defended him either. Because he didn’t let it rattle him, because he believed that Sif was simply like that, a warrior who expressed herself bluntly, but who didn’t feel real scorn for anybody. Not for someone from Asgard... but Loki wasn’t like them. And only in that moment he realized that none of them had ever truly thought of him as a part of them. When millennia ago the Allfather had returned wounded but winning from the battle in defense of Midgar, no one had dared to ask questions about the little bundle that he was holding in his arms, almost as if it were a precious  _treasure_  like the Casket of Ancient Winters. And no one, at the same time, had opposed the slightest protest about the strict order that he gave to his people, after he had given the happy announcement of the birth of his second child: Loki should have never suspected his true origins and all were forbidden to talk to him about it. Everyone had faithfully followed his will, but this didn’t prevented them from murmuring, even hating, in the silence of those golden walls. The truth, which until then Fandral had always tried to mask and justify, was that no one believed that Loki would have never held any grudge against them because of his origins. 

How much could he have perceived those mean thoughts? How long did Loki endure in silence and without understanding why?

Only now that he heard him speak so plainly about his brother, Fandral could understand how much Loki had suffered because of those rumors. And again the warrior, even though he never made such accusations, felt deeply guilty because he had never spoken with greater determination, in order to make them stop. The person who stood in front of him could easily be misunderstood and, at some point during his life, he wished to be so because he didn’t know any other way to stay with others, but still Loki belonged to Asgard. Fandral had never doubted about this. As well as he knew that Loki didn’t deserve such a punishment.

«You claim to be only a shadow, but you act like you want to separate yourself from the sun that gives you life. So I wonder, when you finally get rid of his light, what will remain of you?»

Loki unconsciously withdrew, as if burned.

He couldn’t believe that someone had heard him speak in this way about Thor but what shocked Loki the most, was that he couldn’t believe that another person could understand his torment so thoroughly, and corner him with just a simple question.

What would have remained of him without Thor? He couldn’t even think about it.

He couldn’t, he didn’t want to.

An existence without the sun meant nothing but death, the annihilation of that dark spirit that represented him. Was this what Loki really wanted? To disappear forever, to drown in an endless sea of darkness? A small, but more and more overbearing, part of him whispered the answer he craved so much.

_Yes, that's what you deserve._

A sharp shiver like a blade pervaded him, freezing him on the spot. He was afraid. He felt a boundless dread when he realized what he felt deep into his heart, but that he had never been able to identify. The awareness of being an empty score, waiting to be torn apart... this was what made him tremble. A spirit dead and gone, that's what he would have been without Thor. Fandral, noticing his lost gaze, resumed talking, cursing himself for having expressed himself in a way that had once again wounded his friend.

«This way of considering yourself is wrong.» he said charged with new determination, noticing how his words had took the other by surprise «In all these years we were companions of adventure, and I could see your value. Maybe your words or your gestures could suggest the opposite, or you would like them to do so. But you are as worthy as your brother to be among us, Loki. And you're trustworthy. That's why, despite everything, I decided to be your friend.»

«Tsk» the wizard snapped his tongue, now prey again of his darker thoughts and unable to believe those words that for so long he had wanted to hear, but that he now refused to believe in, feeling hopelessly unworthy «What is this supposed to be, Fandral? One of your pathetic attempts of flattering me?»

Loki could not imagine how much his words had hurt the warrior. He could glimpse something like a blade, a reflection in Fandral's eyes which darkened them, seizing them. But he couldn’t fully understand the reason behind this, not yet at least.

_«No.»_ he managed to rebut the blond, while forcefully ignoring the pain of that unexpected stab «It means that after all these years in which I tried to understand you...»

«What a noble act» interrupted him Loki, still burning with shame and terror that he had never felt before, and that he was no longer able to manage.

He did it again. Again the feelings clouded him, again he let himself be led by the waltz that his heart lead, unstoppable and lethal. He attacked again, he hurt again, in order to not feel his pain. He grew more and more insolent, waiting to create new disdain around him, in the self-injurious attempt to remain alone with his own broken spirit. Alone with his own pain. Alone with the inability to accept what he was. And if he hated himself so much, who could have ever love him?

«I can only imagine your effort.» he kept on going, almost without realizing the words that spontaneously flowed from his own wounds «Do you expect a prize, a reward for your heroic gesture, Fandral the Dashing?»

«I expect!» the blond shouted, and then stopped, astonished by his own feeling.

He peered into Loki's eyes and felt irreparably overcome.

He couldn’t reach him in any way. He could never have done it. No matter how much he screamed, no matter how hard he tried, it was all so unjustly useless. What a fool, arrogant, and idiot he was. He still deceived himself that he could be his support. He still wounded the person who most wanted to help. But he should have known it: no matter how long he stretched his hands, the beautiful moon would have stayed far out from his reach. And every vain gesture, every pitiful attempt to grasp her, would have broken in the solitary echo of water. What he thought he had touched was not the surface of the moon, but the reflection of a feeling that would have never belonged to him.

«You’re right. I expected something in return.» he finally murmured, defeated «I was hoping to receive at least a shred of trust.»

For the second time on that strange day, Loki was momentarily speechless. Fandral saw at last, even if faint, an opening, in which he tried to penetrate. His legs moved instinctively, approaching the sorcerer, while his hands rested on his shoulders, trying to instill a security that  really didn’t belong to him. Instead they begged.

“What cockiness I dare to show yet” thought the swordsman, with deep despising “I'm really Fandral the Dashing, after all.”

«I beg you» said his eyes and then his lips «I wish I could help you... I want to understand you, Loki. Is this really not allowed to me?»

The dark haired man shook his head, confused.

A cloud of doubt and ancient resentment dimmed his judgment, while a mocking sneer covered his face.

«Ah! Now I understand... it's one of your stupid pranks, isn’t it?» Loki asked, and then shed light on the dismay that had been created in the eyes of his interlocutor «The umpteenth trick of the Warriors Three and Lady Sif, of course. Oh, I can see you already.» he grinned admiringly «On the occasion of such an event, why don’t we use Fandral to bring closer the shame of the royal family, and then dazing his dangerous silver tongue with sweet, poisonous words and, finally, humiliate him publicly. _Once again_. After all, what better chance? Out of everyone's eyes, like the real cowards you all are.»

He branded those words with all the contempt he was capable of, that feeling that had been held in his chest for centuries, since he had known those warriors, since they had taken his place in the heart of his brother. Since the rumors around him had intensified, made stronger by their famous lips. However, he was astonished of his own enthusiasm: he believed that he didn’t care, that those slanders created by those who were meant to be his companions barely touched him. A new sneer cut through his face, along with another revelation. In the end, Loki didn’t even know himself.

«Or maybe.» he continued, blocking the attempt of the blond to reply «I have the honor of being the umpteenth victim of our court seducer, the noble Fandral?» this time it was a petty and deliberately provocative smile that masked his face while his eyes spitted contempt, that Loki himself didn’t know to which of them was addressed to.

_“Stop.”_ he said to himself, desperately _“Stop, you're still in time, don’t ruin everything, don’t do it.”_

But acting meanly under the influence of a grudge was always easier, than giving voice to reason.

«Do you hope to take me under your cover like any of your whores? Are you curious to see how much someone like me can get dirty?!» he finally cried.

Loki should have been triumphant at that time. He ought to have been proud of the way he had managed to unmask and ward off another enemy who, deceiving, had tried to enter into his heart. But it didn’t go that way. He didn’t feel any better, nor the winner. On the contrary, he distinctly perceived the bitter taste of defeat. He had lost the only friend he could have ever counted on. He waited for his destiny to come. He waited for the screams, the insults, or a simple look of condemnation. Fandral, however, did not speak. He didn’t show any emotion. There was initially dismay on his face, but now he had surrendered before the emptiness of his every gesture. Slowly, his hands left Loki's shoulders.

_«You have won.»_ he seemed to tell him, in the din of that silence.

Without sarcasm, without any shadow, but with bitter resignation.

Loki's lips moved without making a sound. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t even know why he felt the need to speak. He didn’t intend to fix his words, because he knew there was no way. No one could have: words are like boulders, heavy, sharp, stuck eternally into our hearts.

«It's getting late. We have to go back to the palace.» he heard a distant voice, which almost seemed to not belong to Fandral.

The swordsman had now turned, heading for his steed. He didn’t glanced his way again.

«You know.» Fandral whispered, almost quivering, as he prepared to ride his horse _«You cannot be afraid of people willing to hurt you. Because if you're afraid of life... then you'll never live.»*_

The sound of hooves beating the ground was the last thing Loki heard, before remaining alone.

Like he had always wanted.

They shared no more words between them. 

When Loki, several minutes later, also reached the stables he found Fandral waiting for him. The knight, however, in spite of what the sorcerer had expected, behaved normally towards him. The ride to the palace seemed to have erased what had happened in the glade, as if it had been nothing but a passing nightmare, a tormented dream which, however, had now come to an end. The swordsman spoke confidently to the stable boy and evenly distributed a few compliments to some girls who, encountered by chance along the corridors of the palace during the heat of the festivities, bumped into him with suspicious luck. On that occasion, he even winked at his companion, as if to say «Uff, it's so hard to be me! But someone has to bear this burden». He didn’t even spare sly and mischievous smiles, which would have convinced anyone of his good mood. Anyone, except the Prince of Asgard. Perhaps it was due to what they had said, but Loki found himself to be looking more attentively at Fandral's expressions and, beyond that halo of bright vivacity that he was wearing, he saw a breeze of regret in his look, which almost didn’t dare to lay upon his eyes. And when this happened, it was nothing but a fleeting gesture, though cleverly concealed behind a veil of composure. Looking at him for the first time in that way, Loki clearly perceived the enormous number of things, between attitudes and cultured dialectic, that they had in common. Both wore a mask that no one, apart from them, could see. 

“Silly, idiot, kind Fandral.” thought the sorcerer, while the blond asked in vain news of Thor to the guards. 

The future king of Asgard was in the crowd, in the middle of the festivities along the streets of the city, and the guards hadn’t the slightest idea of where exactly he could be. However, they promptly suggested to the two nobles to wait in the hall where usually the Three Warriors met for their private meetings. As soon as Thor had returned to the palace, the guards would send a page to warn him of their presence. As a matter of fact, the banquet that was going to be held in the evening was only a few hours away; it didn’t make sense that they too get lost in the babel of voices echoing along the streets. It would have been the god of thunder to reach them. Fandral approved the idea and, after greeting the sentries, he headed with Loki to the chamber that had been their private room for centuries. The wizard simply nodded and followed him, like he had done until then, but deep inside he wandered aimlessly into a whirlwind of thoughts. He found himself reflecting on the words that had spontaneously risen into his mind to describe Fandral, in particularly the last one: kind. It was undeniable, after all. Fandral had always been kind to everyone, even to someone like him. He was the only one, he realized only at that moment, that was still interested in knowing about his studies and his days. Loki had always thought that he asked as a mere habit, to maintain his status of perfect gentleman. But, perhaps, if what he had revealed to him in the clearing was truth, could it be... could he hope that he had done this specifically for him? Because he really wanted to share some time with him, as well as with Thor and the others? Right, Thor... Thor now took this kind of attentions for granted; actually, he considered them unnecessary. There were other things to think about, far more important things to talk about for hours, occupying in this way their almost infinite time in a most deserving way. First thing first his epic battles, the glorious challenges to narrate to the posterity, and then the festivities to be held, the people to be seen, the places to visit later, in another adventure... how could he find time for Loki? What was the meaning of asking questions about subjects that, in any case, Thor couldn’t understand a thing about? Magic wasn’t certainly made for warriors... 

Ah, there he goes again. 

That evil lullaby that had slowly rocked him for years and years of his existence. That poisonous melody that made him curl up more and more, in a dark and cold corner, far away from everyone. Left alone. Forgotten. 

_Nobody wants you. He doesn’t want you. He will never want you in the way you hope. He will leave you more and more behind, moving one step closer to the light, while you will stay here, alone in the darkness. Alone, alone, alone... poor, little, pathetic Loki: what will you do then? What will you do? You know it too... you think it as well... it would be better if you just disappeared. Yes, it would all be easier if you were not there from the beginning... it would all been better if you had never been born!_  

«Loki, are you feeling all right?» 

Fandral's voice suddenly stopped the whispers of his mind, created by his fears and the words that, over the centuries, he had heard or perceived in the eyes of the others. Those endless murmurs that, silently, were crushing him. Neither he had noticed that he had arrived in the Fire Room, as his brother had renamed it in their early age. There Loki went again... thinking about Thor. How could he avoid it if every place in that palace talked about him? That particular room especially was very dear to all of them. It was nothing more than a private parlor reserved for the most intimate friends of the royal family, but over the time it had turned into the meeting location of Lady Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral and, of course, the valiant firstborn of Odin. Loki had always been there too, though his presence had turned into a mere habit rather than a sought-after request. At least, so the god of mischief thought... he had never felt part of their group. He was not a warrior, nor their friend. If he was there, it was only for his title and because Thor had wanted him, as his brother. Yet there was a time, there had been an occasion where he had felt truly at home, without feeling the need to justify his presence in any way. It had happened, he no longer remembered how many centuries ago, after one of their first battles. Thor was seriously injured due to a poisonous arrow flung at his back. While they waited in profound silence for the results of the healing priests, Hogun had suddenly slammed his fist on the table with anger. The sense of guilt was tearing him apart and, not wanting to be its prey, he began to attack. Generally speaking to everyone, at first, accusing them for their mistepes, then directing all his hatred towards the only one who had not yet spoken as his usual: Loki. A guilty silence, according to him. 

«You!» he had shouted, despite Volstagg tried in vain to calm him down «Loki! How dare you stay there dumb after what you DIDN’T DO? Didn’t you say that you would have protect him? Or maybe you're finally revealing your true nature, god of deception? Maybe you hope... !» 

«What, Hogun, tell me. What do you want to accuse me of this time?» he replied then, looking forward to being scolded.

That was right, Loki thought, their companion was right, he had betrayed all of them, Thor first of all. He hadn’t been able to protect him, he hadn’t been quick enough, nor capable to prevent his brother from suffering that pain. Hogun was right: Loki wasn’t worthy to be with them. 

«You will never be one of us! You only want...» 

«Do not go any further, Hogun, and realize towards who you're turning these slanderous words!» Fandral interrupted him abruptly.

He hadn’t stood up, stepping between the two as they were doing Volstagg and Sif, there was no need: his glacial gaze would have been able to block anyone. 

«You're talking to Odin's second son, heir to the throne as well as Thor. And our companion.» he waited for his words to be imprinted in the air, before keep going «Choose carefully the words you decide to address to him, Hogun the Grim. For this time I forgive you, because we are all shaken and worried about Thor, but do not ever dare to disrespect one of our comrades.» then he smiled, seeing how much they were in pain for their captain and friend «What would Thor say if he saw you right now?» 

The warrior settled down immediately and, lowering his eyes to the ground, he uttered a whimper towards Loki, which was his peculiar way of expressing his most sincere apologies. Then, just muttering as he took his place among them, he added more firmly, but no less disturbed «He would punch me, without saying a word.» 

That memory broke into Loki's mind and, with it, even the fight he took against himself to curb the sense of guilt he felt towards the swordsman who sat next to him. 

«I'm sorry.» 

Loki didn’t dare to look at Fandral, who was still bent towards him with apprehension. He preferred to let his eyes focus on the warm fire that crept incessantly before them. Just like his memory, those flames felt like melancholy, but also like ancient joy and gratitude. Feelings that he had never expressed to anyone, not even to his brother. Loki laughed at himself. He had never expressed any feeling from what he could remember, but perhaps this was the right occasion to break those old schemes. For once, for a true friend.

Fandral, sitting not far from him, held his breath in shock. Loki, the god of deception, the cold and calculating sorcerer of palace... was apologizing? To him? He couldn’t believe it. Surely he was becoming senile, there was no other logical explanation. 

«I was thinking about the past.» the dark haired man continued, breaking the silence that had been created between the two of them «After a thousand years, memories starts to become chaotic and too numerous, and yet, if you concentrate, you can still manage to find something that could surprise you.» Loki finally met Fandral's blue eyes, binding them to his «I have been unfair to you before, in the forest. You didn’t deserve that. For this reason, I apologize.» 

«This is...» the swordsman stammered uncertainly, to then put a hand to his mouth. 

He could not believe it. On that day, too many things were happening all at once, and the fact that Loki was the undisputed protagonist of them all certainly did not help him to think straight. What should he do? He didn’t want to keep quiet... ah! Loki was looking away again. He couldn’t waste such a chance!

«It's not like you to apologize.» he said hurriedly, in the awkward attempt to reclaim his eyes that did nothing but confuse him even more, but without which he didn’t seem to be abel to live  «I mean, it's something quite...»

«You can say unique.» Loki allowed him, smiling at him spontaneously, perhaps, for the first time since they had met «So be grateful and demonstrate your...» 

This time the interruption wasn’t due to words, but to a gesture. A dictated gesture moved by a primitive impulse, whose mechanisms were unknown. Fandral had not even noticed that he had moved, and Loki had not perceived anything, until his lips were conquered by those of the other. It was so natural, so fair and delicate, that both were shaken and overwhelmed. When they realized what was happening, the miracle was already over. Their eyes had never parted, but they appeared much closer this time, like the spring sky that finally found the green earth waiting for it. Then, however, a wind full of shame and fear hit them abruptly, awakening them from the numbness of that dream. 

«Ah... Lo-Loki... I, I am... forgive me, I didn’t want to...» he tried to mumble Fandral, moving away from him the more he panicked. 

His fears, however, were absorbed by a new kiss. Sure enough, Loki had realized something inside him, and as he grabbed Fandral by his clothes to bring him back to his body, his heart had already decided. He no longer cared about anything. Neither about the future, nor about the stupid voices inside his head, nor even about the regret he already felt running down his veins. That day had been repulsive, the worst he had ever lived up until then. What was left of him was now completely broken and at the mercy of his emotions, which he could no longer fight. He felt terribly lonely, perhaps more than he had been ever been made to feel, because, before that moment, the only company in which he could hope for in order to forget his miserable being, was that of unknown men, individuals only willing to own him for the pleasure of one night. But Fandral was different. Fandral had been by his side during the worst of his crises, and he was still there, with him, in that precise moment, and he wanted him, perhaps he had always wanted him, didn’t he just prove it? So, if Loki had to say goodbye to Thor once and for all, if he had to abandon himself to pleasure to forget the pain he felt, he would have done it between the arms of someone who could have truly loved him... or, at least, who could have been able to give him such an illusion. No one had ever make him feel so much with just a simple kiss, so light and delicate, like a rose. It was soft, faint, yet so full of meaning. It reminded him of the first time he had kissed someone, it gave to him the same tender surprise. Moreover, Fandral had said that he wanted to know him better... so why not allow him to do that?

If he wished to, he would be his.

If he had to take the last step to fall into the abyss, then he would do it while holding onto someone who could cradle him into that darkness.

Fandral's hands moved instinctively, guided by the habit and a secret desire that could finally be reality. They moved following the melody that his heart had whispered to him during too many solitary nights or when he had the company of someone who, however, didn’t harmonize with his notes. But in that moment, oh, every note went finally to its right place, in order to be pluck with precision. He craved those hairs, that skin that, goddam it!, was still protected from those annoying clothes. He would have gladly torn away everything, thus conquering what he wanted the most, but the reason that still resisted in him was holding him back: even if ravenous, he wanted to please every sensation, every moment he had so long awaited for. Slowly, he looked for a small opening between his garments, which, gently, widened more and more. It was like pealing up a forbidden fruit, dreadful and tempting at the same time. And as he ran his hand down Loki's back and felt him shiver at his touch, Fandral realized he was completely lost. He had never experienced such joy, and he would have never given it away again. And this silly little thought frightened him immensely.

«Fa-ah-Fandral...» Loki tried to call him, while his mouth was again kidnapped by another kiss.

“No, please.” the swordsman seemed to silently beg him “Not yet, don’t talk...”

The hands of the wizard, however, pushed him firmly away, but not too abruptly.

«No, Loki...» Fandral murmured, feeling like a child being separated from the person most dear to him «Don’t stop me, don’t go away... stay with me.»

«Fandral.» Loki finally managed to say his name without gasping, though he had to take another breath before speaking again «Not here.» the eyes of the blonde made him hesitate, but he was good enough to smile gently, while resting a hand on his cheek. «Come to my room tonight. Come to me, after the banquet.»

Fandral looked at him not too much persuaded by this idea, but seeing the determination in Loki’s eyes he bent his head, resting it on the breast of his lover.

«You will be the death of me.» he sighed then, clasping him into his arms.

At least that simple gesture of affection was still allowed to him, he hoped.

«You’re free to not come, if you don’t want to.» Loki mocked him with a sight, all the while caressing his head.

Before he could conceal that instinctive gesture, Fandral kissed him treacherously and slowly.

«I’d rather prefer to die into your arms, than live a life full of agony without you.»

Loki blushed till the tip of his hair as he looked at that insolent swordsman.

«... you’re really embarrassing.» he barely managed to say, bringing a hand to cover his face.

Fandral laughed and that wonderful sound filled the walls of that room and their shaken hearts.

«You know, I just found out that I get incredibly cheesy, when I'm in love.»

Outside that room, just beyond the slightly open door, Thor listened to their conversation, unable to speak or act. He felt like when he was young and he listened to the incessant cry of his brother beyond what had once been their room. However, the feeling he felt in that moment was completely different but, at the same time, frighteningly similar.

He had looked for them for hours, searching Fandral and Loki... no, what was he saying? He had sought _him_ , with no stop, throughout the palace. He couldn’t wait for Fandral's return, not after what Miranda had said to him. He wanted to see him, he wanted to talk to Loki more than anything else in the world. He hadn’t even the faintest idea of what he would have done, upon finding him, Thor only knew that he desperately needed to see his brother, to hold him while putting his hand on his neck, like he always did when he wanted to hug him instead. Because, as it had always been repeated to him, for an Asgardian warrior too much affection was unworthy. This was what he always said to himself, while trying to emulate the teachings of his father... but in reality, he was conscious of acting that way only because he didn’t know how much he could have hold himself back. How far he would have gone if he allowed himself a more intimate contact with his brother. But now... now he understood why Fandral had offered to go looking for him. Everything went in its right place.

Thor put a hand to his heart, feeling hurt, looking blankly at the corridor before him. If it wasn’t for the door that was supporting him, probably his legs wouldn’t have held him up, and yet a strange force began to mount along his hands. A fury that burned into his veins as in battle, but in a way more viscous, meaner. He really thought that it wouldn’t be a real party for him if they didn’t all stay together. He had deceived himself that this was the reason that tormented him, but it was useless to lie further: Thor would have never been happy if Loki hadn’t been by his side, snorting and bored by the chaotic noise of his endlessly repeated stories, narrated only to further receive attention. But not the one of others, as Thor wanted everyone to think, but the one of his brother. Yet Loki, despite his boredom, when Thor would have turned to him, would have given a tender smile to him, as if to show that he would have never gotten tired of him. Instead, now Thor realized that all of this would never happen again. Those attentions would never again be for him, nor had they ever been, not in the ill manner in which he had always tried to twist them. From that moment on, they would be for Fandral, who always sat by his side. They would be for someone better than him, who would love Loki, and would touch and kiss him like Thor had never allowed himself to do. At that moment, Thor realized that from his own hands, clenched in two fists, sparks were dripping along with his hatred. Scared and confused, Thor began to move away as quickly as possible from that place. He found himself running away from those images that had now taken place with arrogance into his mind. Images of Loki and Fandral together, as they were at that precise moment, and of how they would be later, that same night...

“Why?” he wondered, while completely ignoring a subject who had greeted him with a bow “Why am I fleeing? Why am I feeling so much hate? Loki is free to choose whoever he considers most worthy of his company, and Fandral is one of the best people that I know and my friend. I should be happy, I should be relieved to know that a womanizer like Fandral has finally found love. And what's more, my brother... he deserves nothing but the best. That’s how I should feel.”

_Oh, really?_

He could almost hear Miranda's voice talking to him, while mocking at him.

_Is this really what you think, Thor Odinson?_

“No.” Thor answered, suddenly stopping, incredulous “No, this is not what I feel... I... I feel incomplete. I feel lost and betrayed."

_And when you're gone I feel incomplete_

_So if you want the truth..._

_I just wanna be part of your symphony_

_Will you hold me tight_

_and not let go?_

**_(Clean Bandit - Symphony)_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Chester Bennington


	5. Fourth chapter: The night when everything changed

_First, there is desire_

_Then passion, then suspicion_

_Jealousy, anger, betrayal!_

How did they get to that point?

When did the lights turn off? When the sounds were gone, replaced by their voices, as if they were the only beings left in the whole universe? When were their clothes lost, together with their reason?

In the darkness of that room, barely illuminated by the lights of distant homes and a shy quarter moon, Loki could only hear his moans, the sighs hardly held back, and the husky voice of his lover, so different from how he had imagined it. They alternated without any logic: now breathing and groaning, now praying and blaming.

«You let yourself be touched by others before, didn’t you?»

His words reached him quivering like the roar of thunder, muffled by the sweat and heat of their bodies that filled the air around them. Those hands, oh, those hands he had dreamed for so long, they were finally touching him, exactly where he most wanted them to. He didn’t care if instead of brushing or gently caressing him, they teased and scratched him like claws. What could it mean to him if, instead of pure pleasure, he felt above all pain? Who was he to accuse, to complain even? Those were the rays of the sun... yes, finally his beautiful sun was holding him. Little would the burns left on his skin matter. Loki _wanted_ to be branded; he wanted a proof that, upon waking up, would show him that it hadn’t been a deception. Indeed, there again, there he was again being burned: along the thighs, between them, and then up, higher and higher, up along the chest and the neck, on his lips and his hair. He was completely overwhelmed. And, even when his tongue imprinted his seal along the bites that the burns had caused, Loki couldn’t help but bring a hand to his mouth, unable to restrain his lewd moans. It was all too much, simply too much: both pain, pleasure, humiliation and finally desire.

«It made you happy when they did that, am I wrong?» when Loki tried to answer, Thor bit him around his neck, preventing him from speaking; a small rivulet of blood ran down his skin, while his brother dominated him, staring at him with eyes strangely glazed, yet furious «I see how you enjoy this... you look very satisfied. Maybe you were planning on being touched this way by Fandral, or maybe you'd have pretended to be a delicate and pure little maiden, mh?»

«T-Thor... no, it's not... ah-oh!»

The words were again engulfed in a scream of pleasure, deep and intense. Thor's hands no longer bothered to scratch his body, but they were dedicating themselves to his member and orifice. His fiery finger stuck inside him and burned to death, but the shocks of pure lust that his cock freed through his spine were just as strong and impossible to ignore.

“Why? How did we end up like... ah!” the wizard thought indistinctly, in the midst of the confused fog that hovered in his mind and heart.

Loki, in fact, seemed completely lost not only by the sensations he felt on his skin, but also by the feelings that were lodged within his soul. He felt a deep and sinister shock of terror at the bottom of his stomach, which blocked his breath, but the thought that Thor was there with him instinctively reassured him and, on the contrary, filled him with joy. He couldn’t understand the reason for his brother's violent behavior, but if he wanted to have him that way, Loki would have let him do so. He wouldn’t have opposed to it, he wouldn’t have stopped those hands he loved so much. Even if they were scary, even if they were hurting him. When Thor finally released one of them and took it to his neck, as if he wanted to strangle him, Loki was astonished, but instead of giving voice to his terror, he took that hand into his own and smiled at him, with tears in his eyes.

«Don’t you dare think of any other but me.» Thor said to him in response, moving his other hand away in order to settle with a dry gesture the hair that had fallen on his face, preventing him from seeing.

And although his brother wanted to tell him that he had never thought about anyone but him during his entire life, Loki just nodded.

He was ready for all the pain that Thor wanted to inflict to him, and for all the remorse he would have brought with it.

_Without trust, there is no love_

_Jealousy, yes, jealousy_

_will drive you... mad!_

The festivities went on smoothly that day: the return of the two valiant companions of the future sovereign seemed to have further raised the spirits of the crowd, in the grip of an incessant euphoria. The king and queen of Asgard, as soon as they sanctioned the beginning of the noble banquet through the echo of the ceremonial horns, seemed to shine with a new light, a light that would have soon shined on the whole kingdom under the lead of their firstborn, Thor. The gentlemen belonging to the aristocracy gathered for the occasion were, if possible, even more numerous than during the previous evenings: it seemed the more time passed, the more the celebrations became glorious and, with them, increased the pomp of that ceremony. Here there were the Elves of Álfheimr, in fact, led by their young and soon sovereign Miranda Kalidaughter, who, despite her dreadful fame, had always been an appreciated and cultured guest among the Asgardian walls. Even some Dwarfs coming from Niðavellir could be seen in the middle of the table, intent on probing the wisdom of the guests about the art of metals and their workmanship. Those races that from their very birth had been rivals, now appeared as polite acquaintances before the father of all gods: this was Asgard, this was the miracle that the new coronation brought within: a promise of peace and reiterated hope for all his subjects.

The god of thunder seemed to have renewed his enthusiasm, while he ordered that all his friends seated nearby were served with another drink. On these occasions in fact, the etiquette forced him to sit on the right side of Odin and alongside some nobleman, but fortunately this important member of the aristocracy was a trusted friend. Or, at least, such had seemed like so far. However, the luck certainly didn’t belong to Thor, but to the Elf, who ensured to take the opportunity that fate had offered to her. To begin with, she made sure that the god's glass was never empty. Very trivial and unimportant: the god himself was already taking care of this task. What she was aiming for, however, was to give him something much more suitable for this occasion. But for that there was still time... Miranda possessed all the patience necessary to ensure that her plan ran smoothly down to the smallest detail. Also because, given Thor’s behavior, it was now certain that her words had sorted the exactly effect she wanted. The prince's smile seemed brighter than ever, his stories even more fantastic and exciting, his company the best someone could hope for. And yet, there was clearly a note out of place, in that factious harmony. An imperceptible dissonance, which only those who knew him well like Miranda could identify. Or like Loki, who sat at the opposite end of the table, beside his mother. However, the sorcerer soon convinced himself to desist from what he considered another illusion, created specifically by his mind, to seduce him with images that did not belong to reality. Like when he desperately searched for a deeper meaning in the caresses that Thor gave him along the neck when they were alone. This was just another pathetic attempt of self-comfort.

Shaking his head, he brought a glass to his lips, dropping his gaze, almost by accident, back to Fandral. A look that was promptly crossed by the blond, who smiled brightly, discreetly raising the glass to his health. That was an unequivocal gesture. Loki sighed, although he could not help repeating the gesture, sketching a smile. Since they kissed a few hours before, the eyes of the swordsman had done nothing but undress him on the spot, soaked with desire and, however, overwhelmed of such a composure that never resulted in mere lust. Fandral wanted him, it was obvious, but he craved for something far more precious than his body.

_«Tonight I will finally conquer your heart... I will only take a part of that rose garden, but for these_ _hands so impure, it will be a privilege to be able to taste even one of your roses.»_

Loki suddenly blushed because of that vivid memory, almost choking with the wine he was drinking. Since he had shown to feel comfortable with him, Fandral had been _far too_ loaded with attention and mushy thoughts for him. He carried a handkerchief to his lips, wondering how cold he should have been to him, to keep him from whispering all that nonsense to his ears whenever they were alone. Loki looked at him again, intimidatingly this time, but hesitated and soon lost all his warlike intent once it laid on that friendly figure. Perhaps, he thought, it wouldn’t be so bad to be spoiled... for once. His emeralds eyes then spontaneously moved towards the figure of Thor, who appeared so proud and bright as he laughed and joked with Miranda and the other guests close to him. A sudden lump in his throat momentarily took his breath away. He had never perceived him so far away. And yet, it would have taken so little for Loki to reach him, a word would have been enough to capture his attention. But he knew it was impossible. Thor at that solely moment belonged to the court and to no one else. He saw it clearly from the way he equally lavished his attention on all the guests. Nothing incredible at all: Thor had always been good at dealing with people, unlike him. What Loki didn’t know, though, was that Thor's mind was actually focused on one person, though he tried in every way to drive it away from them. And the more he tried, the more he drank, the more their image stared into his heart like a poison that, patiently, waited to awaken in all its destructive power.

«What an incredible huge tableful!» Miranda suddenly twittered, distracting the god from his contrite thoughts «According to my noble uncles, it was from the time of your father’s coronation that there wasn’t such majesty. Can you keep the emotion at bay despite everything, noble Thor?»

«How could I do? All the noblest among the nobles are here, as well as our most trusted and sincere allies.»

«A bunch of people you would reasonably do without, don’t you?» the woman made fun of him, calmly moving her eyes around her admiringly «I wonder if I too, one day, could boast of such a multitude of perfect profiteers.»

«Always adorably venomous, aren’t you, Miranda?» Thor whispered, with a complicit smile and playfully resigned.

«Careful, I would say. And you know I'm right.» she replied in a lower voice, so as not to be heard by the other guests, while her expression was transformed from skeptical to contrite «I wanted to apologize to you for the impolite words I addressed to you today.»

Thor watched her, concealing his torment with a smile of circumstance that, he hoped, was enough to reassure her friend.

«It wouldn’t be you, if you weren’t like that. You don’t have to apologize.»

«Oh no, but I have to. I fear I have made unfounded accusations and, given my fame, I am ashamed of myself for not having deepened my sources further.»

«What are you referring to?» he asked confused.

Miranda raised an eyebrow, staring straight into his eyes with dismay.

«But, noble Thor!» she laughed mockingly, resting a hand on his arm before continuing in a whisper «Yet it is so clear that the noble Loki feels an immense attraction for your friend Fandral. They are practically lovingly glancing at each other in front of us all, can’t you see them?» she said, pointing with a gentle gesture in the direction of the two «I'm pretty sure they have a relationship and, since today I have accused you of harboring feelings for your brother, I understand that this is just impossible: how could you ever love someone who belongs to someone else?» she stared at him intently with her cold eyes «It wouldn’t be you, if you did, right?»

Again, Thor found himself without answers and arguments. He could only look at his brother, as if he no longer belonged to his life. In fact, it was exactly like that, Miranda was right. There were no doubts, not for those who, like him, had witnessed their exchange of effusions and promises of even greater pleasure that same night. Realizing this, Thor drank another cup of wine, then crushed it to the ground and screamed to receive more. That custom was always useful to get rid of too much euphoria but, in this case, it was a different feeling which Thor felt the need to free himself from as soon as possible.

«Hahaha! I notice that this is the evening of exceptional events: it's not like even you to drink so spasmodically, Thor.»

«This is a party, _Lady Miranda_.» the god said, finally with a low, secure voice «So why don’t we finish talking about things so insignificant for us?»

«I absolutely agree.» concur the Elf, raising her glass and toasting to his health «To our soon to be new king of Asgard, Thor!»

A chorus of approval shook the hall, while the guests turned their glances and glasses towards the god of thunder. Miranda was absolutely right, as always: given the magnitude of the event, no one cared about how Thor was drinking and, even if they did, no one would have dared to say anything. There was no reason. That was his feast and, moreover, the god of thunder was well known for his voracity in drinking as much as in eating, second only to his friend Volstagg the Voluminous, as his companions called him. And yet, there was something ferocious in the way Thor took the cup to his lips, swallowing his contents more and more rapidly, then shattering it to the ground with the powerful cry of «Another!». Even his looks seemed more and more impetuous, almost furious, but still lucid and controlled. This, at least, until the peak of the celebration was reached...as well as the end of the banquet.

At the stroke of midnight, the rhythm of the party changed drastically. The Aesir were certainly not made for tranquility and even the most sublime of banquets could only turn into a glorious opportunity to talk passionately with those who preferred to. At that moment, in fact, the guests were free to get out of their seats to reach whoever they wanted. The event thus became a pretext of genuine comparison and unanimity even among the noblest. So it was that Thor, engaged in conversation with two exponents of the Dwarves race, noticed a drastic change at the corner of his eye. First Lady Sif was in the company of Fandral, both engaged in a conversation with the queen mother, but since another ruler had approached her, she had been reluctantly forced to devote to him every attention in the name of the royal label. The warrior had then turned away with a bow and it was at that time that the eyes of the god noticed how Fandral had immediately turned towards Loki. He was looking for him, had even waited impatiently for him, this Thor could see clearly.

“Why are you staring at him? What are you so impatient to tell him?” Thor thought with ferocity, not realizing that this thought could perfectly be referred to both his friend and himself.

Despite his lips uttered words of joy and enthusiasm, his soul was made of a completely different nature. He couldn’t help but think back to what he had just glimpsed, noticing how much Fandral appeared too smiling, too close, too sure... was he touching his arm now? Another quick glance froze him in place, though the voice of one of the Dwarfs had drawn his attention, outwardly at least. That’s cause Fandral had stretched his hand to touch, apparently coincidentally, Loki's arm. And not only had he gotten the attention of his eyes, but he had also conquered his smile.

“Yes. Oh yes, damn it.” added his wounded heart, while Thor was trying to show interest in the tedious conversation of the inhabitants of Niðavellir “And Loki didn’t do it with his usual sarcasm, oh no... he was sincere. A smile of genuine joy, which he once addressed only to me, to me and no one else.”

It was at that moment that Miranda, noticing his bewilderment, casually handed his cup to her friend. The cup, however, no longer only contained the heavenly wine designated for the event. Thor took it, drank it almost without thinking, and with just one sip the god forever abandoned all reason and gave voice to a mad desire called Jealousy.

“Mine.” he said to himself, as he took another sip from his goblet “Loki is only mine, only mine. Nobody can have him, much less you, Fandral, I won’t let you... !”

The unrestrained melody of his mind stopped. Not because of the gesture he was about to accomplish, but because someone else preceded him. His brother, in fact, stood up before Thor could do it while crushing the crowd that separated them. Loki, without knowing it, had anticipated him and restrained him at the same time. Miranda stared at the whole scene annoyed: if Loki left, it would have been the end of her plan. Thor indeed seemed to have suddenly been placated. Both of Odin's sons were thinking the same thing. The party had reached its zenith and, as it was custom, the god of deception was skedaddling. He always did so, damn it, but Miranda hoped that because of that silly lover he would have stayed longer. Thor looked relieved, lighten up, which meant that her plan of vengeance went up in smoke along with his fury. If Loki left, then the god of thunder wouldn’t have had anything more to fear. He would have been safe, since he believed that Loki was proving that he was still his.

But the last look betrayed him.

And set forth everything.

The last glimpse that Loki gave to the room, as he walked away proudly, always belonged to his brother. A look resigned and in jest disgraced, in which he hid his personal farewell.

«Goodbye, my brother!» he seemed to murmur every time, while his hand was already impatiently laying on the door «My duty here is finished, you can also enjoy the rest of my part.»

That was why Thor stared at him incessantly, at that moment, almost begging him.

“Please.” he thought “Turn around and look at me, smile at me mockingly as you always do. Just...”

Loki turned and smiled, more exhausted than usual, but no less intensely. But he didn’t turn towards him. Instead, his eyes crossed those of Fandral, telling him not a goodbye, but a _see you later_. He curled his lips, the god of deception, in a winking and vehemently seductive way, the likes of which Thor had never seen. His heart lost a beat, and that of Fandral too, but while the swordsman’s then began to beat more frantically for the joy he felt in his chest, the one of the god did it so for jealousy. His mind became a dark place, while Miranda smiled triumphantly at his side. Bringing the cup to her lips to mask her cruel grin, the Elf toasted to their tragedy.

“Long life to love...”

_His eyes upon your face_

_His hand upon your hand_

_His lips caress your skin_

_It's more than I can stand!_

Everything happened dreadfully quickly.

There were many unexpected events that night, but no one, not even the person who had orchestrate in the shadows all of this, could imagine what fate was going to do. A few minutes after the departure of Loki, Fandral took his leave as well in order to follow him... but he was not alone. Thor had in fact soon came up besides him and ignored him with a mocking smile, while his friend scolded him about his duties towards the guests. It was his party after all, but that's why the god of thunder was free to do as he pleased, from midnight on at least. Spending his time in the company of the many guests was certainly the most diplomatic and recommended choice by the father of all the gods, but no one would have complained if Thor, instead, had preferred to retire to his rooms or those of anyone else. Even that, after all, was a way like any other to celebrate. However, the Asgardian prince immediately explained to the swordsman that he had no intention of isolating himself in his lodgings, not so soon at least, but rather wished to talk about a particularly important matter with him. For this reason he had taken advantage of his departure from the banquet hall, so that they could finally be alone. At that point Fandral hadn’t protested further. Although displeased with the idea of making Loki wait, he was happy to spend some time with his closest friend and, for once, without having a superhuman crowd encircling them. Unfortunately, their conversation didn’t proceeded in the way he had expected, nor lasted very long.

«I don’t know what made you believe that you could have him.» Thor had suddenly warned him as soon as they reached a dimly lit inner courtyard without guards, then hit him treacherously with a fist in his stomach «But Loki doesn’t belong to you. He is mine.»

Fandral had bent down to the ground in pain, trying desperately to not reject what he had just finished eating. Despite the initial surprise, however, he was not intimidated. It wasn’t certainly the first time that, due to a brawl, the two of them ended up getting into fistfights, yet the swordsman felt something different in Thor... even if he couldn’t understand what it was. Nor did he care, not after what Thor had said. Of course, the god of thunder was his friend and commander, but Fandral would have not allowed him to treat Loki as a mere object to compete for.

«If I have to be completely honest, I am still wondering by the grace of what miraculous divine providence, I’ve been able to get so close to him... but you are right about one thing: Loki doesn’t belong to me. And he will never belong to anyone, if not to himself.»

The second blow made his ears whistle and forced him into silence for much longer than a few seconds. However, in the midst of that buzz that made his head burst, he could still hear the words, at first indistinct and then gradually more clear, of the god. And so Fandral no longer feared for his beautiful face, but for the sake of someone much more dear to him.

«I have warned you, my friend.» Thor had indeed said, looking at him with calm anger «And in honor of our long friendship, I will not rage on you again. But stay away from Loki. He’s mine.»

Without adding anything else, Thor had moved with a glazed look towards his brother's room. Fandral couldn’t do anything but lay on the ground, stunned by the blows and revelations that, for a reason he could not explain, terrified him.

“No.” he said confusedly inside himself, trying in vain to get back on his feet “Thor could never hurt Loki, it's just impossible...” and so he kept repeating to himself, during the various attempts to force his legs to support his weight.

The incessant dull sound he felt inside his head was driving him mad, but the swordsman wasn’t the only one to endure such torment. Even Thor, who walked the corridors in great strides without the slightest hesitation, was desperately trying to put an end to that torture, for which he knew there was only one remedy. For a strange reason he was indeed convinced that if he would go to see Loki, then everything would pass, and everything would be alright. Yes, he only had to see him. Nothing else. See him... and then what? He couldn’t just go to him without saying anything, could he?

“I have to explain to him that he must never go near Fandral again, that is wrong, that it makes me feel sick.” he thought confusedly, when he had knocked on his door “Yes, it's all so easy. I'll just talk to him... but maybe he will not listen to me, of course he won’t. He was waiting for Fandral, not  for me... then... then I...”

Loki, who meanwhile was intent on changing, heard two heavy knocking that made him jump. Surprised, but convinced it was Fandral, he opened the door with a crooked smile, ready to tease him for his immature impetuosity. However, every feeling of joy that had enveloped him up to that moment, died instantly.

«Thor?» he exclaimed in disbelief «What... ?» but his brother didn’t let him finish and, pushed Loki inside with a dry gesture, he then closed the door behind him.

“Then I will have to make him understand it in another way.” Thor concluded in his mind, as he watched the younger with anger and severity.

The god of deception was petrified. Until a few minutes ago, he was reminding in his mind the image of his brother, who had never seemed so beautiful and bright as in that evening... in the moment when he was about to say goodbye to him forever. And yet, here he was, appearing before him in the middle of the night, like a beautiful nightmare. Loki instinctively brought a hand to his chest, in a clumsy attempt to close his clothes around his body; those same clothes which, until a moment before, he was releasing himself with melancholic lasciviousness, while waiting for Fandral. Loki was laughing at himself, remembering all the nights when he was torn between the burning desire to drown into his brother's arms and the shame of that unrequited feeling. But right now the sorcerer just wanted to cry and disappear forever. He felt reprehensibly naked and fragile. He also felt like a bloody idiot, for not paying attention to the way “Fandral” had knocked on his door, so impatiently, so unlike his usual calm gestures.

It was yet another false step that Loki led in that waltz that was now going to its end.

Thor didn’t waste any other words, considering he had already used too much of them with his friend, who was probably still intent on recovering from those blows as powerful as unexpected. With three firm strides he approached Loki, who, as a result, backed away as long as he could until, barely turning around, he found himself with his back to the wall. It was at that moment that the arms he had dreamed for so long enveloped him, imprisoning him in a stifling hold, made even more breathless because of Thor’s lips, which closed voraciously on his. It was violent, quick and unexpected, and while his mind still struggled between the desire to wriggle and let go, Thor's hands wrapped around his waist, lifting him off the ground. Instinctively, Loki wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck who moved his hands from his hips to his buttocks, and then pushed him vehemently back against the wall.

It was wrong... there was something terribly wrong with all this. Still, Loki could not oppose the slightest resistance. How could he? The Thor’s arm were the ones who held him, his lips were the ones who, mingling with a strange sweet taste of the wine, inebriated him, taking his breath away. He was madly in love and simply alone, from a time too unworthy to be remembered. Loki could only just breathe, trying to catch air between his kisses, while his lips repeatedly called the Thor’s name: once with surprise, the other trying, with uncertainty, to reject that contact, and immediately afterwards begging him to never break that wonderful contact.

«Mine.» he suddenly heard from his brother's lips, which then parted from him.

His eyes froze him in place, causing him to tremble instinctively in fear. Before Loki could still call his name, Thor's right hand detached from his bottom and took his hair, pulling them with a violent and painful tug.

«Ouch!» he suffered, but the other didn’t care.

Indeed, didn’t he just smile?

«What did you think you were doing, eh? You whore!»

Loki stared, incredulous.

«Thor, what the hell are you talking about? Ouch! Stop it, you're hurting me!» he moaned, trying to push his brother away.

They were just vain attempts, given its poor physical prowess compared to that of the older.

«I’m calling you with the name you deserve... weren’t you preparing yourself to make a show for someone?»

Loki's eyes went wide and then stared at him guilty and frightened.

“What the hell is going on?” he thought stunned by the last events “Am I dreaming? This is not real... this can’t be Thor...”

«Tsk, as I thought.» sneered the god of thunder, still pulling his hair and forcing his brother to expose to him his neck, which he bite without hesitation «Whore.» he further pronounced, before brandishing him decisively.

Loki cried at the burning caused by that wound, but before he could reply in some way, again Thor's lips gripped him, imprisoning him. This time there was a metallic taste that corrupted his tongue, and despite the fear Loki felt an undeniable excitement for that contact. He loved Thor, he had always loved him, and it was impossible that his body wouldn’t respond to his kisses, however violent. It was all surreal and impossible, yet they were together, clinging like old lovers. Sensing Loki's growing erection against his stomach, Thor lowered him slightly, so that his brother could rub freely against his own. Loki's back quivered, while the uneven bricks that made up the walls of his room stuck into his spine painfully. That was acceptable, and indeed Loki welcomed it with euphoria, while his legs tightened even more forcefully around his brother's back. Thor was now looking for his skin with his free hand, like a hunter struggling desperately with his own prey. For very long minutes there were no other sounds than their moans, though neither of them realized it. This, at least, until another voice broke through the door. A voice that should have been there, instead of Thor.

«Loki?» Fandral called apprehensively, and yet with difficulty «Loki, are you all right?»

«Fa... mh!» the sorcerer tried to answer, but Thor's tongue stopped him.

Yeah, Fandral... how could he have forgotten about him?

«Thor, please...» he managed to mutter suddenly, but this time he received a bite on his lips that made him cry and bleed.

«Never say his name.» he just said, staring at him threateningly, with glacial eyes that the younger had seen only in battle and never upon himself «Do not even think about him in front of me!»

This time he bit again the neck, and soon also the chest had a brand new mark on it, which had remained provocatively uncovered. Meanwhile, Thor’s thrusts that were rubbing against his brother's lower abdomen had become even more urgent and voracious, mixing notes of pleasure with the pain that Loki was feeling. Endless seconds passed, during which Loki felt the worst humiliation of his own life at the thought that Fandral, on the other side of the door, could hear everything. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to hurt him again, nor wanted Fandral to hear him while he was uttering such dirty, such filthy and indecent noises... but he couldn’t even stop himself from doing so.

Another knock at the door made him startle again.

«Loki!» Fandral cried this time, with a voice that the sorcerer had never heard before «Please, open the door, tell me that...»

«It's all right.» Thor answered for him, while with his right hand he caressed a turgid nipple of his brother «What's wrong with you, Fandral? Do you want to see me while I fuck him? Would that make you calm down?»

For a very long moment there was nothing but stunned silence.

«... I'll leave as soon as I hear from Loki that I have nothing to fear.» Fandral's voice shook, shaken by doubt «You don’t look like yourself tonight, Thor. And even if you are my friend, no, because of this, I won’t let you hurt your brother.»

«Really, you are doing all of this just for me?» the god of thunder mocked, as he took a short break to admire the shameful state of his brother, and finding it incredibly exciting «In any case, you don’t have to worry, my friend. I'm not going to do anything that could hurt him. Nothing, at least, that he doesn’t want me to do.» Thor continued, and then he addressed his brother «But it's fine, let’s do as you wish, Fandral: let Loki speak for himself. Tell me, little brother, what do you want me to do?»

Loki looked at him hurt and deeply lost. He had never felt so bad in all his long life, but he also felt an undeniable pleasure and satisfaction being held so tightly by his brother. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible, to flee far from that cursed room, but he also wanted to stay. With these confused thoughts, the god of mischief finally took his decision. Because the brain follows the heart...

«Leave... Fandral.» he cried, as he spoke looking into his brother's eyes «I'm fine. That's what I want.»

This was how Loki said goodbye to one of the people who, more than anyone else, would have eternally loved him. He could almost see him, into his mind, as Fandral bowed his head, resigned and defeated.

«As you wish...» he murmured before vanishing «I wish you to be happy by his side, Loki.»

_Why does my heart cry?_

_Feelings I can't fight!_

«There.»

Loki held his brother's face with his hands, wrapping it in a tender gesture of affection, while tears shone in his emerald eyes, unable to fall. He had no right to cry, not after what he had just done to Fandral. It would have been a hypocrite and, at that moment, he was already struggling to accept himself for what he was: a petty and selfish being. However, in spite of that new weight that was now resting on his heart, he tried to show his best side in front of Thor, pouring all his love and understanding into that look. He wouldn’t make him feel guilty for what he had done, since he was the only at fault: the god of mischief and deceptions. The hated and spoiled, the eternal prince of Asgard, forever second to Thor.

«Did you see?» Loki smiled at him, while a traitorous tear caressed his face «He's gone, he will never come back.»

He didn’t know why he was speaking like that, using a submissive and reassuring tone, as if he had to calm down a ferocious beast, prey of his own animal instinct. There was no reason to appease his fury, not in order to stop Loki from feeling pain, at least. Loki just wanted to protect Thor from his own mistakes, as he had always done in his life. He didn’t want him to do something that he would have regretted later, and although he gave his assent for that reason, Loki felt that for his brother it would have never be enough, once he would have come to his senses. Because there were no words that could have ever justified his actions.

_«You’re always so concerned about others rather than yourself.»_

For a moment, for a cruel game of his mind, Loki recalled those words. Dazed by their meaning, the gaze of the god of deception got lost in the labyrinth of that memory. Everything happened no more than a few hours before, and during that short amount of time he had hoped that everything would have been different.

“No.” he thought with regret “I dared even more, I was convinced that everything would have changed, that I would have finally found salvation from that black abyss I was sinking in. But the truth is that I never deserved salvation. I've never even really desired it.”

_«It's admirable, but you cannot suppress your own feelings or you'll end up hurting the people you’re so eager to protect.»_

Loki almost wanted to laugh at those words that he had heard throughout his entire life. How far had he fallen... what sort of divinity of the deception was he, if he couldn’t even deceive those around him? At that point he realized that, if it was impossible for him to find the right mask to wear in order to mislead others, then... he just had to lie to himself.

“You're wrong, Fandral.” he thought, returning to the present with his mind “There is no need to express my emotions, it’s enough for me to be overwhelmed by those of the one I love.”

In that fleeting moment, Loki saw something shaking in his brother's glassy eyes. He saw a spark of reason, a faint flame of his true self, struggling to return to the light. Perhaps his words had succeeded in reaching him. Or, perhaps, it had been his gaze to tell him more than everything they had ever said to each other in a thousand years. But it was only a moment.

Then, everything went black again.

«Do you believe that this is enough?» Thor asked with a rasping voice.

His arms tightened on his brother's skin more forcefully, while his legs led both of them to the bed. Loki, despite the fear, couldn’t and neither wanted to oppose this. His mind and heart were totally subjugated to his brother's will, and resigned to his destiny. Once Loki was laid on the mattress, Thor could finally tear off the few clothes that, obstinately, still tried to obscure the vision of his brother’s skin. The same skin which, until then, he had only scratched the surface. Despite the scratches and bites he had inflicted on Loki, in order to cover all of that body he had longed for so long, for Thor this was just the beginning. Every corner of that skin would have been his, and he would have assured that Loki would have never forgotten this from then on. However, it seemed unjust to limit himself to do this. After all, among brothers it was legitimate to share everything. And Loki the unfaithful deserved to feel a pain that went far beyond physical ache. He wanted to humiliate him, make him submit to him completely. Therefore, after getting rid of those annoying obstacles, Thor undressed himself too, in order to allow the little brother to explore him as well. Loki hesitated, unsure of what to do, but Thor was willing to offer him some guidance.

«My cock.» he said simply, enjoying Loki's lost gaze «Suck it.» he concluded, remaining kneeling between his brother's wide-open legs.

Loki hesitated. Slowly, he knelt as well and, bringing his face to the height of his member, took it between his hands. He wanted to die, he really wanted to drown and stop once and for all to breathe the shame that covered his whole body, but at the same time he wanted nothing more than to give all of him to his brother. He began swallowing a small part of his dick, twisting his tongue over the tip that already dripped with liquid. He then lead deeper, every inch deeper and deeper, until Thor gave a far more forceful rhythm, pulling his brother by his hair.

«There.» said the older, while he enjoyed that intoxicated work that was making him shudder along his hips and back «Now I like what comes out of your mouth.»

After having said so, he pulled off his member from his brother's mouth, who coughed at that sudden occasion to breath. Traces of precome mixed with his saliva falling down his chin to the sheet. Tired of that useless waiting and convinced that he had played for time far more than necessary, the god of thunder pushed Loki back to the sheets, overwhelming him with his body. Satisfied at the sight of the blush that had now covered his brother’s lips, Thor took great care to vehemently mark again every inch of his skin, as he interrogated him.

«You deserved it.» he told him, while he sucked one of his nipples and, with one hand, pinched the other «You disobeyed to me again... I told you to never say his name in front of me.» when Loki desperately tried to hold back, biting the back of his wrist, his anger and libido increased «I'll have to teach you what’s your place, little brother.» he said going lower and lower, licking the abdomen and suddenly reaching his exposed and thick cock «Beneath me.»

He grabbed his brother's member vigorously, making him moan louder. The precome poured from his tip, allowing Thor's hand to flow smoothly along his length. Loki closed his eyes, praying desperately any divinity that was good enough to make that moment of pure shame to never end. Meanwhile, Thor watched him struggling with both desire and contempt.

«You let others touch you before I could, didn’t you?» he suddenly said, stopping his hand and closing it on Loki's glans with anger, at the thought that someone else had dared to see him in that state «It made you very happy, I guess. Am I wrong?»

Not satisfied at all with the grumbles of dissent that his brother tried in vain to hold back, Thor began to explore his anus too, pushing a finger inside him «You seemed pretty sad before... what is it, you would have preferred to have both of us inside you?» with that he added another finger inside him, suddenly pulling them back, and then pushing them even more deeply.

Loki had abandoned all reason, wandering in the fog of fear and desire. Only when he removed his arm from his mouth to speak, he tasted a metallic flavor. The skin of his wrist was lacerated and bleeding and, probably, his lips now appeared red, make-up like that of a prostitute.

«No, Thor... you're wro... aargh!»

His arm, that was now covering his face, suddenly reached for Thor's head, which was bent over his belly. His brother had taken his dick into his mouth and was sucking it with such voracity to leave him without words, making him forget even all the burning pain that now felt like an indistinct tremor, running through all the bruises of his body. The same hand that previously wanted to push him away was now guiding him, pulling with endless sweetness and desire those gold hair tangled into fine braids. Loki loved them so much, those golden rays belonging to his little sun... he had always wanted to get lost into them with his hands, forever impressing their softness on his skin.

«Here as well?» Thor asked, freeing his mouth and using his fingers to torment Loki’s hole again, this time with three fingers, making him cry out for pain «Damn you!»

Before he could prepare him further, Thor decided to replace his fingers with his dick. He didn’t care if it would have been uncomfortable, he didn’t less care about the monstrous pain he would have inflicted to Loki: on the contrary, he hoped he would have suffered and struggled, like a whore. For each. Single. Thrust. He had to remember it forever, and erase from his mind all the other bastards who had dared to possess him.

“I’ll kill them.” he thought in the grip of the madness that Miranda's poison had unleashed into his veins “I will kill them all!”

It was with these thoughts that he penetrated with a single thrust Loki.

And it was painful, it was cutting.

Although Loki had lain with other men before, this bestial union almost made him faint for the pain. He wanted to run away, he wanted to get away from him, from the pain and from the beast that was inflicting to him all those scars, but Thor instead gripped his arms around his body, preventing him from doing so. His cock didn’t penetrate him in one go, and therefore he had to push two more times before he could enter completely into him. And he did so desperately, shaken by thrill of pure agony of his heart that, despite the powerful curse, still tried to bring him back to reason. But, unable to awake him from his sleep, it forced him to at least express all of his fears.

«Please don’t leave me! Loki, don’t leave me alone... don’t go away... or I... I will die without you!» the god squawk, his face filled with tears.

It was the first true scream of his brother, the only one free from the influence of Miranda's poison. And Loki felt every tear on his skin and could feel himself joined to him through pain. He cried too uncontrollably, sensing every sob and every strangled moan of his brother. Thor, the invincible god of thunder, who was crying on his shoulder like a lost child. Then came out again that distant, dark, monstrous voice.

«Mine.» it said, taking control over Thor «Mine! You're all mine! Your body, your soul, your whole being belongs to me!»

Loki would have called for help, he would have certainly done something in another situation. But since it was Thor who was hurting him, since they were his tears which he felt burning on his skin, while his semen mixed with the blood that flowed from his wounds, he didn’t do anything. He didn’t even fight anymore. He smiled instead, looking for and then finally pulling Thor's face to himself, looking at him straight in the eye, while they were erasing each other, finally together again.

«I'm yours.» he whispered, thus breaking their hearts forever «I've always been.»

_You're free to leave me but_

_Just don't deceive me_

_And please,_

_believe me when I say_

_"I love you!"_

**_(José Feliciano – El tango de Roxanne)_ **


	6. Epilogue: The story that we all already know

_But now it's early in the morning_

_Now that I gave you what you want..._

The events that followed were only a consequence of that crazy night.

If until then it was simply a prelude, from that moment on the nightmare took its shape, turning into tragedy all that Loki held most dear.

When he woke up, Thor went insane.

Finding himself naked beside his younger brother, who was covered with bruises and dirty of his own semen, along with the blood that soiled the white sheets and that still dripped down his thighs, made him lose completely all his reason. He no longer knew what to do or what to think. He was purely overwhelmed by agony and despair, because of those clouded images of the night before that were swirling in his head, stunning him. He cried desperately, wrapping his head between his hands, while a cloud of electric shocks enveloped him, growing step by step with his pain and his screams. The solace words and gestures of Loki were worthless. Nothing could reach him, except regret and shame. Thor just wanted to fade away, erasing forever his body which was no longer worthy to live in.

Loki didn’t show a single feeling while evoking his spell. He had prepared himself for countless days and nights, to be able to learn it perfectly. Time would have certainly not healed the sorcerer's wounds, not those he now carved into his heart, but it would have helped him to forget, while the resignation toward his unhappy destiny would have done the rest. As it had always been. He would have faced that new wave of pain all alone, as it should be. He would have suffered in silence, deceiving anyone about the events of that night. But for Thor it was different. Thor was not meant to suffer, he was not used to cause pain to anyone. He wouldn’t have been able to face such fault. He had disfigured the dearest and brightest things he had. Thor had ruined it forever. And, besides, Loki felt responsible for having killed Asgard’s sun. But Loki would have never allowed this to happen. The spell that erased Thor’s memory was immediate, and although a small part of the god regretted of not having used it on himself, he felt like he had took the right decision. Thor deserved better. Thor deserved to forget and to continue his journey along a path made of light. For someone like him, for the god of deception and mischief, darkness was his one and only abode. He was what he had deserved. He was what he had always been: a spirit dead and gone.

Everything would soon be as it should. Everything would soon be right and at peace.

«Don’t be afraid, Thor.» he whispered, as the lightning went down, wounding him one last time on his wrist and, if only Thor had watched him carefully while he was losing his senses, then he would have heard the last message forever dedicated to him and him only.

«I love you.»

_All I want is to forget_

What happened during the day of the coronation is well known by us all.

What we couldn’t know, however, were Loki's thoughts when his brother looked at him, as he bowed before their father to make his oath.

“Forgive me, Thor.” he thought, unable to stand his gaze because of the shame he felt “But even if you have forgotten... I still cannot... probably, a part of me seeks revenge for what you did to me. This is what I would like to say, but the pain that I really feel is a bit different... I cannot stand the idea of losing you... in spite of everything that happened... I still can’t accept it... and I know that doing this will hurt you again, I know I'm a selfish monster who feeds on his own whims, but still, for just a little while... just for today... I want things to remain exactly as they are.”

A sudden crash distracted all the guests, while Odin stood up, ready for battle. Thor looked at him with a lost gaze, not understanding what was happening. Loki closed his eyes. And he waited for his destiny to be fulfilled. Because every action has its consequences. Although, often, we cannot know what they are until it is too late to fix them.

“Never forget what I told you before, Thor. Brother.”

He opened his eyes and found his brother's confused eyes again, looking for answers.

“Never doubt that I love you.”

_I've got the scene in my head_

_I'm not sure how it ends_

_Is this love?_

_Maybe one day_

_So don't turn on the lights_

_I'll give you what you like_

**_(Avril Lavigne – Give you what you like)_ **

**Author's Note:**

> *Sjǫfn is the Norse deity associated with Love in its purest form, while Freyja embodies Sexual Love, Desire and Fertility.
> 
> **Parce que le cerveau suit le cœur, in original. Quote of the song Brisé by Maître Gims.
> 
> ***El sueño de la razón produces monstruos, in original, is the title of a work by the painter Francisco Goya, made in 1797.


End file.
